


Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aw Coffee NO!, Brief mentions of WinterWidow, Charity Hawktion Auction Prize, Clintasha - Freeform, College AU, College Photography Assignment, F/M, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Use of Band-Aids, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Harold Barton's A+ Parenting, High School Angst, It's not meant to be I promise, Laundry, Natasha's Clint Barton Repair Kit, Pining, This will read briefly like a Kid Fic, some stucky if you squint, widowhawk, you know where this is going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: A flash of purple caught the corner of Natasha’s eye, and she took her attention away from the slides of prehistoric cave paintings long enough to see Clint through the window, exactly where he didn’t belong.“Shit,” she muttered before she could stop herself. Okay. Okay. This looked bad.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Previous Natasha Romanov/James "Bucky" Barnes, previous Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 28
Kudos: 80
Collections: Charity Hawktion 2019





	1. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> This story belongs to Kali, the winner of my prize offering in the Clint Barton Charity Hawktion. I was asked to create a story from the following prompt, including so many others that my lovely bidder suggested that I couldn’t refuse: 
> 
> "You remember me as that classmate who slept in the library, the classroom floor, on chairs and benches in multiple locations and even the swing AU.” So, here we go.

Their friendship began with a band-aid. It was Nat’s favorite story to tell whenever anyone asked. Or, y’know. Even when they _didn’t._

Clinton Francis Barton was that kid that ate paste in kindergarten. Not even on a dare. Just because it freaked everybody out. He tasted it the first time out of curiosity, and the second just to make sure it was really that bad. And, well, that third time was just to hear little Janet Van Dyne shriek like the priss that she was. That was a bonus.

Not so much as one streak of errant crayon ever escaped the lines of Natasha Romanoff’s coloring pages, and every penmanship page returned to her table decorated with shining, gold stars, delivered by benevolently smiling teaching assistants. She sat at the same tiny, round table across from him out of duress. The teacher’s assistant arranged the students boy-girl, boy-girl around the room to cut back on gender-based rivalry. By the third week of class, Clint ran out of unstained, untorn clothes. After another week or two, they acquired an aroma.

Natasha was the only girl who stood next to Clint at circle time, holding his hand despite his dirty fingernails or the old remnants of marker, paste and fingerpaint streaking his flesh. Because someone had to, didn’t they? Natasha learned, with some maternal coaching, not to tell him that he smelled funny or that his hair was a mess.

“His mommy might not have much time to get him ready in the morning, sweetheart. Be nice to him. Saying something might hurt his feelings, and that wouldn’t be very nice, would it?”

Natasha looked uneasy but said nothing, acting like the plastic margarine container full of barrettes and clips on the dresser looked very, very interesting as her mother brushed her hair and tugged them into immaculate, snug plaits. Her slender fingers moved gracefully and quickly, like dragonflies, taming the gleaming, fiery skeins that already made Natasha’s teachers label her “that cute little ginger.”

“Is he nice to you?” her mother pressed.

“I guess.” Natasha thought about it a moment. Darcy Lewis was nice and always talked so fast that she sounded out of breath. Stevie Rogers was nice, even though he was kind of bashful, but he always shared the markers and paste at craft time (without tasting any). Sharon Carter was nice; she didn’t smash the tetherball when she hit it.

Clint Barton was just a _mess_. But, when she thought about it for a minute, Clint wasn’t necessarily _mean_.

Every time Natasha turned around, Clint had another owie. She caught him one afternoon picking at an angry red cut on his finger.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get germs in it,” she nagged.

“So?”

“It’ll get all icky, and you’ll get sick,” she added.

He shrugged and slumped down in his chair, going back to his drawing and ignoring her, making her tsk under her breath. _Fine, then._

“Mrs. Hunter, Clint has a cut on his finger,” she tattled, pointing triumphantly.

“No, I don’t!” he snapped, clutching the hand in question against his middle, under the table and shooting Natasha a wounded look. Natasha shrugged back.

“Oh, sweetie, let me help you, okay, Clint? It’s okay.” She bent down and gently tugged his hand out where she could see it. “Doesn’t that hurt, Clint? C’mon. Let’s go to the nurse’s office and get her to look at it.”

“She’s gonna put medicine on it, and it’s gonna hurt MORE!” Clint accused.

“Let’s see if she has ointment, bud. That won’t sting. You might even get a cool band-aid, okay?”

That pacified him. Natasha mulled that as she went back to her drawing of a black cat. She snuck a look at Clint’s drawing of a boy shooting a bow and arrow at a target that looked a lot like a pancake at first glance.

It was pretty good.

Clint didn’t mind band-aids. Good to know.

When Natasha arrived back home, she dashed upstairs while her mother began to fix lunch and climbed up onto the sink. She yanked open the medicine cabinet and spied the small box of Mickey Mouse band-aids. She grabbed a handful of the little strips, glanced out into the hall to make sure no one was looking, and she tucked the box back on the shelf. Natasha hurried to her room and found her American Girl pocketbook, opened it, and tucked the bandages inside next to her Tinkerbell lip gloss. There. Just in case.

The next day, when she found Clint crouched down by the water fountain, probing a scrape on his knee, she was prepared. 

“Don’t, Clint. Look. Here.”

His sandy brows furrowed, and his voice held a note of warning. “Don’t make it hurt.”

“I won’t. I promise.” She wore a look of fierce concentration as she unwrapped the small band-aid and deftly peeled off the backing strips. He winced for a moment when she gently smoothed the adhesive flat, covering most of the scrape. “That’s not so bad,” she coached.

He hopped up, shaking off her touch quickly, and he ran off. Natasha threw up her hands in the direction of his retreating back.

“Well, fine, Clint!”

The next day, Clint gave her half of his Rice Krispie treat. A light went on in Natasha Romanoff’s head in that instant, that _someone needed to look after Clinton Francis Barton, and it might as well be me._

*

Sometimes, Clint didn’t wake up that quickly from nap time. 

Actually, some days, Clint slept _a lot,_ even when it _wasn’t_ nap time.

Nat sometimes had to poke him awake during the class movies. He always managed to doze off five minutes in, because the room was dark. He woke up with a puddle of drool slicked across his desk when they watched _The Phantom Tollbooth_ and _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”_

“Clint,” Nat hissed, eyes widening when she saw him slumped over his desk, tousled blond spikes of hair peeking over the edge of his scabby forearms, “wake up! It’s over!”

She leaned over the aisle as far as she could reach and poked him with her pencil eraser, just the faintest tape against his elbow. He grunted and fidgeted but settled back to continue his nap. Tony snickered and poked James where he sat in front of him.

“Look at Barton,” he teased. “He’s out like a light.”

“He went nighty-night,” James agreed without malice. “He just doesn’t care. Look at him, man.”

“Leave him alone,” Steve chided as he doodled in the margins of his notes. He pushed his reading glasses up on his nose and then snapped to attention as the classroom lights came back on. “He’s tired. Just let him sleep. Sheesh.”

Steve struggled with anemia, asthma, had a bout of rheumatic fever that kept him home from school for almost a month, and he knew what exhaustion felt like. When a guy needed a nap, he needed a nap. His rescue inhaler was tucked into the outer pocket of his backpack, he took a bajillion prescriptions every day, and he still felt self-conscious whenever he had to change for PE, because he didn’t want the guys seeing the scar on his chest from when he had a hole in his heart repaired when he was little. That being said, no way was Steve Rogers ever gonna give Clint Barton shit. Once they hit middle school, they both joined ASL Club, and Clint and Steve started holding private conversations at the lunch table and anywhere else. Nat soon joined it, too, so she wouldn’t miss out. Nat and Clint signed during study hall, during detention (it was worth it, Nat decided, to cut class and to meet Clint at Baskin Robbins to cheer him up when his older brother Barney got sent to juvie), during assemblies, during boring class movies, provided that Clint could stay awake… you name it. 

Clint still didn’t like to talk about how he lost his hearing. It was a sore subject. 

“Clint,” Natasha hissed again, just as insistently. “Wake up.” She didn’t want him to miss anything important.

Tony took a more direct approach and flicked a folded paper football triangle at the back of Clint’s head. Clint jerked up with a start. “Ugh… what?”

There was a crease in his cheek from the seam of his sleeve pressing into his flesh, and his hair was mashed on one side. He looked like a drowsy, irritated kitten. Tony and James chortled, and Clint calmly flipped them off. 

“Please take out your pencils and a sheet of paper. I’m going to pass around a quiz sheet for each of you, and I want you to use your notes and what you saw in the film.” A low chorus of groans went around the room. Clint looked crestfallen, until Natasha poked him again and shoved a pencil at him, along with a sheet of paper she’d already ripped from her binder.

“Thanks, Natalia.”

“Uh-huh.”

It was nothing new. 

Clint turned up the volume on his hearing aids and scrawled his name atop the page. 

“You have til the end of class to finish this quiz.” Mr. Fury leaned back in his chair and sipped his cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

Multiple choice. Nat signed Clint most of the answers.

“Please return your papers to me _quietly_ when you’re finished,” Mr. Fury ordered. He gave Tony and James a pointed look, since the two of them were already whispering and stirring up the beginnings of a ruckus on that side of the room. Guiltily, the two of them turned in their papers, unsurprising that they finished first. Bucky, Scott, Sharon and Nat were next; Steve finished quickly, too, but he dawdled a while as he packed up his things and fiddled with a doodle in his notebook.

Clint caught up to Natasha for a minute by her locker. She crammed her pre-algebra book inside and reached for her bag of field hockey gear. Clint leaned furtively against the adjoining locker and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Whatcha doin’ after school, Nat?”

“Practice,” she shrugged. “Studying. I’ve got a science quiz tomorrow.” She glanced down and clucked at his purple rugby shirt. “You’ve got a stain.”

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I do.” He licked his thumb and rubbed at it futilely. “Hot cocoa. From yesterday.”

Nat wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Clint.”

“It’s just a little chocolate.”

She glanced around the corridor and leaned in. “Want me to wash it?”

Clint gave her a sheepish look. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Drop it off before you go home. I’ll sneak it into the hamper.”

“Sweet.” He gave her shoulder a brief, fond swat. “Later.”

“What are you doing today?” she countered before he could dash off.

“Eh. Nothing special. Hanging out with Barney. He came home last week. We’re just gonna watch movies.” His tone was casual, but Natasha could hear the hint of excitement, and Clint’s blue eyes lit up. When Clint got into a scrape, it was usually physical, but he meant well; Barney made no bones about relieving a department store of a pair of Nikes when he felt like it, or sneaking a smoke behind the field house. Stealing their neighbor’s truck and taking it on a joy ride down the back mountain roads and bringing it back with a rash of dings in the paint from the gravel got him a month in juvie, a hefty fine, probation class, and their pop taking it out of Barney’s hide.

Clint spent the whole night crying up in their room afterward. Nat went with him to Baskin Robbins and dipped into her weekly lunch money to buy him a double scoop cone.

Barney had a gift for getting into trouble, but Clint worshipped the ground his older brother walked on. Natasha couldn’t understand why Clint was always so hung up on trying to please him, but she understood the desire to _protect_ him, despite the fact that she was an only child.

Darcy, Sharon, Janet and Jane rushed Nat at her locker, effectively pushing Clint off, and he backed away, holding up his hands. “I’m out.”

“Get lost, fart knocker!” Darcy yelled at him. She gave Natasha a strangling hug and warned him, “She’s mine, see? She likes me best!”

“Fine, then! She’s got your cooties all over her now!” Clint crowed back.

“Hey! I don’t have COOTIES!”

*

So. Yeah. Clint was just. Clint.

It wasn’t that they grew apart. It was just that Nat and Clint gave each other space for a while. High school was _intense_. Once Clint’s teachers stopped insisting that he was a discipline problem, and “distracted,” and “inattentive,” and actually started working with him, he managed some decent grades. Miss Munroe reminded him that if he wanted to participate in any of the intramural sports, like archery or gymnastics, he needed a solid “C” average, and, well. That lit a fire under him. Clint wasn’t a perfect student, but he started actually using the library as a place to study instead of just take a nap. He’d never really love school, but there were worse places to be. 

Like, home.

Natasha kept him on the fringes less out of a lack of interest and more out of a lack of time. AP classes and extracurriculars crammed her schedule and assured her return home barely before dinner. Ballet classes. Chemistry. Precalculus. Drill team. Concert band. Student government. Honor Society. Every night, she fell into bed exhausted and wondering if she’d missed anything. 

Once in a while, she nudged Clint awake in study hall or at lunch. They stopped sitting at the same table by the middle of sophomore year, but once in a while, she still slipped him a piece of gum or a couple of singles if he was tapped out.

Clint hung out with Scott, Logan, Steve, Bucky and both Petes at the table in the back of the cafeteria, closest to the window. 

“She’s stuck up, but Natasha’s _hot_ ,” Logan pronounced before he took a swig of his Power-Ade. 

“Shut the hell up,” Clint insisted. “C’mon. It’s _Nat._ ”

“What? Shut up because she’s not stuck up, or she’s not hot?” Logan challenged.

“Shut up, because _just shut the hell up,_ dude.”

“Pffft… whatsamatter, Barton? You like her, or what?”

“It’s not like that,” Clint argued. “It’s Natty. That’d be like dating my sister, if I had one.” Despite this claim, Clint felt a flush creeping up over his ears and hot prickles running down his back. Logan didn’t look convinced, either. 

“You like her,” he pronounced smugly. “You can totally tell, bud. Don’t lie.”

“Dude. _Shut up._.”

“It’s no big deal if you like her, Barton,” Scott told him. “She _is_ hot.”

“She scares me, but she does it in a hot way,” Pete (Quill) admitted. “Kind of like Megan Fox in _Jennifer’s Body_.” Next to him, Peter (Parker) nodded emphatically. 

“That sounds about right. Like, she probably knows at least a dozen different ways to kill you, but you still wouldn’t mind it if she kissed you.”

Quill grinned. “Sure wouldn’t.”  
“I sure wouldn’t mind if you shut the hell up,” Clint reiterated as he took a swig of his sports drink.

Both Petes smirked and gave each other a fist bump. They’d gotten to him. 

Natasha waved to Clint through the window. Tony was trying unsuccessfully to impress her. Her posture was casual, but Clint recognized the amused expression on her face as boredom. Tony follow closely on her heels as she entered the cafeteria and made a slow beeline toward Clint’s table. She smirked down at him.

“So, about Friday…”

“I’ve got plans,” Natasha told Tony without looking back at him. Her green eyes gave Clint a once-over. “You’re supposed to eat that. Not wear it.” She dusted off the crumbs from Clint’s shirt. 

“Thanks, Mom.”

“And don’t chew with your mouth open.”

Clint took a bite of his sandwich, chewed it, nodded, and then showed it to her.

“Ewwwww.” She wrinkled her nose and gave him a brief shove before walking off.

“So, how about Saturday?” Tony attempted.

“I’ll text you,” she assured him as she walked off.

“Yes!” Tony hissed, pumping his fist and grinning, until he realized, “Wait. You don’t… you don’t have my number. Nat? Natasha?” he called after her retreating back. “She’s not gonna text me, is she?” he asked no one in particular.

“Nah,” Clint assured him. “It’s good to want things, buddy.”


	2. Don't Take Coffee's Name in Vain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, dorm life. And denial.

Natasha closed her locker and jumped back, startled, as a hand slapped a typed page against its surface.

“Hey. Check it out,” Clint greeted. “I got in.”

Natasha smile-frowned up at him for a moment before plucking the letter out of his grasp. “Hey! You butthead! You didn’t tell me you were applying to Empire State U.”

Clint shrugged, but he looked pleased with himself. “I didn’t wanna tell you unless I got in. And yeah, look. I got in.”

“Well, shit. Wow. I guess that gives me something to think about, then.”

“What’s there to think about?” Clint leaned back against the bank of lockers and ran his fingers through the back of his hair, which was already a mess.

“I got into all four of the schools that I applied to,” she told him.’

“Oh. You actually applied to more than one?”

“Well, yeah, doofus.”

“Pffft. Like you weren’t gonna get into whatever college you wanted, anyway, Miss Overachiever.”

“Hey. I resemble that remark.” Natasha bumped against him playfully, but as she skimmed the letter, her smile grew, and Clint felt his chest hitch. Heat crept into his cheeks as she read the third line of the first paragraph aloud, “We are pleased to welcome you to our university as an incoming freshman, Mr. Barton.”

“See that? Huh? Done good, ain’t I?”

Nat snickered and nodded. 

“Now, I’m gonna be all edjamacated and stuff.”

“And use all the big words.”

“So. You got in too, right?”

“Yeah. They sent me the email first. It wasn’t even my first choice. I was thinking of Sarah Lawrence or Carnegie Mellon, but Mom wanted me to pick somewhere close to home, too. I’m still thinking about living in the dorms, though.”

“S’funny. Nice thing about Dad always losing his job is that I qualify for a shitload of financial aid, so. Yeah. I was thinking about the dorms, too.”

Natasha handed him back the letter; Clint folded it back up and crammed it into his backpack, and he fell into step beside her as the bell rang. 

“So, Sarah Lawrence, huh?”

“It’s a nice school. I loved the campus when we toured it.”

“Empire State has a great performing arts program.”

“So does Carnegie Mellon.”

“Know anybody else who’s going there?”

“Janet got into their design program. She had to put together a portfolio.”

Clint tugged on his hair again. “Guess that makes your choice a little easier, then.”

Nat’s brows furrowed, making a cute little divot between them. “Um. No. This is not an easy choice. They’re all great schools. I just -”

“Hey. I just wanted to tell you that I got in when I saw you. Catch you later,” Clint offered before he loped off.

“- wanted to maybe go where some of my friends were going so I’ll already know someone,” she said, letting her voice trail off when she realized she no longer had an audience. 

*

Natasha parked her bike on Clint’s front porch and knocked on his front screen door, glad that Clint’s dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, nor was Barney’s battered Honda Civic. Nat heard Lucky’s staccato barks and his tags jingling behind the door, and she grinned. If the dog was inside, then Clint was home.

She felt pleased at the sound of Clint’s footsteps and his faintly breathless huff as he yanked open the door. He reached up and smoothed down the back of his hair, a common reflex. “Hey.”

“Hey. I brought you a gift.” She brandished the bottle of laundry detergent. “You said you didn’t have any.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She gave him a bored look and single-shouldered shrug. “Maybe I wanted to.”

“Place is a mess,” he warned her. 

“You gonna let me in, or what, Barton?”

“Yeah.” He opened the screen door and stepped aside to let her enter.

“Mom just went to Costco and got the big-ass bucket of detergent, so she won’t mind if I take this one,” Natasha explained as she handed him the small bottle of liquid Arm and Hammer. “She bought this one as the ‘between Costco trips’ bottle when we ran out.”

“Yeah. Well. Payday’s not for a week. Pop’s check was a little short.” 

“It happens.”

“Not as often as it happens in our house.”

Natasha ignored the cluttered kitchen table and automatically began to put away the clean dishes in the rack.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’ll save your mom some time when she’s ready to make dinner.”

“She’s not going to be home in time for dinner.”

“When is she going to be home?”

“Nat. I don’t know. Okay?” His voice was stiff, and she held up her hands in entreaty.

“Then, I guess we’re making dinner, buddy.”

Clint huffed, then shrugged. “I miss you coming over.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy getting accepted to every school.”

“And studying for finals. I miss sleep,” she told him. “And this. I miss coming over here, too.”

Nat watched him in horror as he poured himself a cup of coffee, even though it was four PM. “Clint. Don’t drink that. How old is it?”

“I dunno. Probably from this morning.” He placed the cup in the microwave and hit the timed reheat button. “It’s perfectly good coffee. I’m not gonna waste it.”

“You’ll never sleep!”

“I never sleep, anyway. Remember?”

“Clint. C’mon.”

“I hear him when he comes in. He’s still loud. Ain’t much point in falling asleep, is there?”

Natasha paused in scrubbing a spaghetti sauce-encrusted plate. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

“Hey. I’m gonna go start a load of darks. There’s Oreos in the cupboard. I hid ‘em from Barney so he wouldn’t eat ‘em all.” Clint saluted her with the bottle of laundry soap. “Back in a minute.” He missed her quiet scowl at his retreating back, but he heard her sigh, anyway, and if chafed him a little.

By time time Clint returned to the kitchen, Natasha had emptied the sink and wiped off the counters, and she already had a pot of rice boiling on the stove.

“I found some hamburger in the fridge that was already thawed,” she informed him. “I was thinking about meatloaf.”

“I’ll eat it if you don’t make me cook it.”

“Deal.”

*

Clint scanned the crowded gym for Nat from where he sat in the second row of seats. Natasha was in the third bank of seats, almost all the way in the back. Being seated according to last name _sucked_. But he found her chatting with Pete Quill, and he managed to catch her eye. Clint took out his phone and zoomed in on her, taking her photo. She grinned at him and threw deuces at him, then gave him what she called her “Marie Claire” smile that he remembered from her senior portraits. Clint sank back down into his seat and grinned at the shot.

She texted him. _You’d better not put that on your Instagram._

Clint shrugged. _Already did. You gonna cry about it?_

There was a long pause before his phone pinged.

_Maybe I’ll pick a different dorm building than the one you picked, and then YOU’LL cry about it, Barton._

“What?” Clint yelped.

_Different dorm building? I thought you were going to Carnegie!_

_We both know that won’t be the first time you thought wrong, Clint._ She followed it with a half a dozen emojis that were laughing and sticking out their tongues at him.

 _God, I hate you._ Then he added _I CAN’T WAIT._

The speeches took forever. Tony’s valedictorian speech was surprisingly self-deprecating and evoked a few chuckles, but Natasha felt her own eyes burn a little when she saw the glimmer of tears in his dark ones, because this was something he’d worked so hard for, for so long, and this was it. It was a new start, but it still felt like the end of the road.

The principal mispronounced her middle name as he handed her the diploma, but she didn’t care. She hurried off the stage and back to her seat to wait.

Then the superintendent announced the new graduating class, the cheers were deafening. Natasha ducked the rain of hats and rushed off to find Clint.

“We did it! Oh, my God, I thought that would never end!” Clint “oof’ed!” as she glomped him, and he laughed and hugged her back just as tightly. “Hey, are you crying?”

“No,” she lied as she wiped her eyes, but she didn’t let go of him. She felt his large hand rubbing her back and heard his low chuckle. He was so warm and solid, and his big hand stroked her back awkwardly. He didn’t push her off, instead letting her cling to him for another minute while they drank in the clamor around them.

“Okay. That’s fine.”

Pictures. So many pictures. So many hugs. They were gradually separated, but they remained on each other’s periphery, out of long habit. Always on opposite poles, and never far away.

*

 _Six months later_ :

A flash of purple caught the corner of Natasha’s eye, and she took her attention away from the slides of prehistoric cave paintings long enough to see Clint through the window, exactly where he didn’t belong.

“Shit,” she muttered before she could stop herself. Okay. Okay. This looked bad.

Their art history survey class was on the third story of Lensherr Hall. Clint was sprawled out on the lawn out front, earbuds still plugged into his ears.

Natasha waited for the professor to turn his back and scrawl a timeline on the chalkboard before she sent Clint a brief, frantic text. 

_BARTON. You’re missing the new slides. This is a big lecture._

She hoped his phone was tucked in his pocket so he would feel it vibrate. She put her phone down in her lap when Professor Xavier turned around. He glanced at her quizzically.

“Miss Romanoff? Do you know about when the Venus de Willendorf fertility figures were-”

“Thirty-seven thousand B.C.,” she rattled off before he could finish. “I… need to go to the ladies room.”

She hopped up out of her seat and rushed out of the lecture hall before he could reply.

“That was abrupt,” he mused, before he went back to his notes.

Natasha decided a phone call wouldn’t be effective. She bolted for the stairs and jogged down both flights. “CLINT!” she shouted as she jogged - sprinted - toward his supine figure. She spied his empty Starbucks reusable cup beside him, and he was loosely clutching the handle of his backpack. “CLINT! Wake up! Up and at ‘em!”

She saw him scowl and squint up at the sky, and then at her. Natasha didn’t wait for him to reply.

Clint watched Nat leaning down over him, looking irritated and out of breath, her shoulder-length titian hair swinging loosely around her face. For a moment, his own breath caught. The sunlight caught the bright strands and set them on fire. “C’mon. You can’t afford to miss these notes. Don’t let him mark you absent again. It’ll be the third time this month.”

“Shit,” he muttered. She tugged him upright with surprising strength and began to dust the bits of grass from his back. “I didn’t mean to oversleep…”

“How did you end up asleep out here?”

“Fuck…” Clint scrubbed at his face. “I don’t know. I don’t even remember changing into these clothes.”

“They aren’t yesterday’s,” she assured him.

“Okay. Good.” He glanced at them again. “Are they even _mine_?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I can taste corned beef. I haven’t eaten corned beef…”

“Clint, that’s foul.”

“Hey. Don’t judge me.”

“This is me, _totally_ judging you.” She made her judging face at him, pointing to it, and he winced.

“There isn’t enough coffee to get me through this day.”

“Ask yourself if it would even help if there was.”

“Don’t take coffee’s name in vain.”

“Hurry up, Clint!”

Clint tried for nonchalant as he eased into the lecture hall. The professor didn’t look up at the sound of the door swishing open, nor did he call on Natasha again. Clint scribbled some halfhearted notes about the French cave paintings and even sketched out what a few of them looked like. Natasha remembered his old drawings of arrow targets that looked like pancakes. She tried and failed to suppress her smile.

*

“We’re going to Costco. Wanna come with?” America hovered in Natasha’s doorway. “Or you could just give me some money and I could pick up whatever you want?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to go to Costco.”

“Car’s gonna be crowded, but c’mon. We’re leaving in five.”

“I need everything. Give me a minute. Let me call Clint. He might need something.”

America’s lips twitched. “No worries. Meet us downstairs.”

Natasha grabbed her purse and keys and texted Clint on her way downstairs. _You home?_

She snorted down at his reply. _I just woke up in my own drool._

“Nice,” she murmured. “Going to Costco. Want anything?” she said aloud as she typed.

 _Coffee. K-cups._

“That’s fine,” she replied. “I’m getting detergent, too. Want any?”

_I wore my last clean pair of underwear yesterday._

“I totally didn’t need to know that.”

The trip to Costco took forever. America, Kate and Natasha stopped to sample all of the free snacks. “I’m almost out of meal credits on my card,” Kate complained.

“Get the mac and cheese. I’ve got a rice cooker,” America reminded her. “That whole pack will last you a week.”

“I just can’t eat that much mac and cheese.”

“I can when I’m poor. Even the dollar store mac and cheese will do.”

“The dollar store Froot Loops aren’t even that bad,” Natasha admitted. 

“Fruit Rings,” America corrected her.

“I saw a warning on the dollar store snacks that some of the ingredients might be known to cause cancer,” Kate mentioned.

“Still cheap,” America pointed out.

“I told Clint I’d get him some K-cups.”

“I’ve never seen him without a cup of Starbucks in his hand.” America threw out the small paper cup that her sample of pomegranate juice came in and perused the refrigerator shelves of frozen pizza bites.

“He lives on coffee. He has since we were twelve.”

“You’ve known him that long?”

“Longer. Try all my life. We were besties back in kindergarten.”

“He’s cute,” America told her.

Natasha made a face. “He’s _Clint._ ”

“I mean, I’m not interested in him, because, y’know. _Gay._ I just didn’t know if there was anything between you two.”

“A thirteen and a half foot pole that I wouldn’t touch him with, because we are _not_ like that.”

*

Nat caught him sleeping in the dorm lounge and chose not to wake him. She tucked the box of coffee pods under the edge of his fleece blanket next to him. She pulled the edge of the blanket up higher around his shoulders to keep him from getting a draft and quietly backed away.

*

Natasha almost poured salt into her coffee instead of sugar during breakfast. One glance in the mirror while she got ready for class told her that her eyes looked like pissholes in the snow. Finals _sucked_. The fifty-question open book test in her psych class left her with eye strain and a nervous twitch. One more exam today. Two more tomorrow. Then, she could collapse.

Nat bolted the bowl of instant oatmeal and fruit cup, barely tasting either one. She received a text from Darcy, wondering why she was up so early; UC Davis had been her first pick of the colleges she was accepted to, and she was three hours behind Natasha, meaning it was only six AM.

_Tony’s having a New Year’s party at his dad’s. Please tell me you’re coming._

Natasha hated to commit to it yet. _I don’t know yet._

She hurried downstairs to the main serving area and left her tray on the dish carousel, and she skirted around the tide of residents stumbling inside for carbs and caffeine. 

She collided with someone lanky and solid, and hissed out when his hot drink soaked the front of her shirt.

“FUCK!”

“Aw, coffee, no!” 

“CLINT!” Natasha’s arms drifted out from her body stiffly as the brackish, dark brew dampened her skin. “Ugh… what. The _fuck_.”

“Natty… I’m sorry. Shit, that’s your favorite… I’m sorry.”

“It _was_ my favorite shirt.”

“I know. I didn’t see you coming, and I got like minus-three hours sleep, because I had to bullshit my way through my poli sci paper. I didn’t think my professor was gonna give me an extension, and then he did, which meant I actually had to _write_ it.”

Natasha didn’t give him her Judgy Face. Clint looked like death warmed over, or more accurately, exactly how she felt. 

“I’ve got exactly no minutes to go change before I have to be across the campus.”

“I owe you a shirt.”

“I kind of owe you a coffee.”

“No, you don’t.” He looked contrite and gave her arm a little squeeze. “Sorry,” he repeated.

“I know. I’m so done with this day.”

“It’s just begun.”

“I know that.”

Clint gave her a pleading look, and in a move that surprised her, leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Text me when you’re done, okay?”

“That’s… yeah. Sure.”

“You’ll kill it. I know you will.”

“Bye.” Natasha rushed off before she could process what had just happened. The soft warmth of his lips lingered on her skin. Natasha hoped she didn’t look as flummoxed as she felt.

The survey of British literature final was long, tedious, and filled with trick questions, and Natasha couldn’t wait for the day when the writing requirement of her program was over with so that she would never have to set foot in a lecture involving pre-colonial prose again. It felt impossible to focus. The clock ticking on the wall was too loud, and Daken kept clicking his pen tip up and down, over and over again, making her heartily wish to kick his chair to make him stop. She skipped the next five questions, promising herself she would come back to them, before confidently answering “none of the above” to the next one that was a gimme. Her blouse still smelled like coffee. 

_I hope Clint is doing all right._


	3. Just Like ASL Club All Over Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is NOT Clint Barton's keeper. Supposedly.

Natasha wandered back to the dorm building in a daze, exhausted and ready to collapse, until she remembered that she had to pack.

“Eeerrrgggh.”

She fiddled with her purse, rummaging for her keys and already noticing the difference between the past two days and the now-late afternoon. Everything around her sounded louder, almost blaring; smartphone speakers, the sounds of rooms being hastily vacuumed, television sets, and conversations held out in doorways. “Silent Study Hours” were almost over.

“Oh, my God! NATASHA! I passed my Econ final! I’m so stoked!” America cheered as she rushed out of her room and glomp-tackled her and lifted her off the floor. Natasha laughed hoarsely, swatting at her but not hurrying to extricate herself.

“I’m just glad this over. I think I had high enough averages in all of my classes that one final won’t kill me,” Kate chimed in, and when she leaned her chin over America’s shoulder, she automatically let go of Nat, and Kate’s arms wrapped around her girlfriend’s waist. “Still, though. This day _sucked_. It sucked _balls_.”

“I still need to talk to Clint. We’re maybe gonna carpool home.”

“Awww. That’s nice,” America mentioned. 

“Depends on how long he makes me wait to pick him up, and how much of his crap he needs to take home.”

Nat noticed another text from Darcy when she ducked into her dorm room.

_So, are you coming to the party or not?_

Natasha shrugged. “Eh.” _It’s not “or not,” I guess. Not yet. I still haven’t decided. I don’t have anything to wear._

Darcy’s reply was immediate. _I have a brand new green sweater that I was gonna send back to Lulu’s that looks like crap on me, but you’ll probably rock it, if you just wanna give me, like, ten bucks for it to make it worth my while. C’mon. C’monnnnnnnnnn. Come to the party, pretty please?_

Natasha sighed.

_I hate having to commit to New Year’s. I don’t know if my parents will want to drag me to anything._

Which. Was kind of a lie. Natasha was looking forward to spending the entire break on the couch in her Hello Kitty fleece pajamas with her cat, Liho, planted on her lap and eating her weight in cookie dough.

_Steve already said that Clint is coming._

Natasha’s face went on a journey. “That dork,” she muttered. Well. That just meant she’d _have_ to go, didn’t it? Shit.

*

“I can’t believe you left this much laundry til the last minute, Clint.”

“It’s not even that much,” he argued as he hefted the enormous, overstuffed, Army green duffle into Nat’s tiny trunk and slammed the door shut. “Hey, can we stop at the AM/PM? I wanna grab some snacks.”

“That’s not near the freeway!”

“Pretty please? I’d kill for a pizza stick right about now, and they already closed the caf.” Nat warned Clint that she wanted to leave before the sun went down, and he dragged his feet saying his goodbyes in the men’s wing, until she hooked her arm through his and tugged him downstairs in a huff. It was a comical sight, until he made her stop long enough to wrest his duffel out of her determined grip.

“Don’t make me look like a wuss, Nat. I can carry my own bag!” But he still marveled at her effort. “Geez, you’re strong.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass, pal.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’m not,” he claimed with less vehemence.

“Just come ON.”

They followed the tide of cars out of the student parking lot, and America and Kate honked at them on the way out. Nat waved, and Clint promptly shoved his seat back to give his long legs some room and planted his stockingfeet up on her dash.

“Seriously, Clint?!”

“What? It’s a long trip. Gotta get comfy.”

“You have a great big hole in your sock! You had to pick the jankiest, nastiest socks to wear today and then put them up on my dashboard!”

“These are my lucky socks! What’s the big deal? It’s just built-in air conditioning.”

“I don’t want to stare at your stinky feet for the whole ride home!”

“Then stare at the road!”

They bickered over radio stations until Natasha plugged her phone into the Wifi so she could hear the GPS. Clint acquiesced to getting straight onto the freeway once Nat promised him that they could stop at a Papa Gino’s en route to get some real pizza. No amount of pouting or loud sighing changed her mind.

“We’ll get home sooner,” she assured him.

“Pizza stick sure would’ve been nice,” he murmured. “Nice, crunchy, greasy pizza stick. Just the right size for travel. Just grab it and go-”

“Barton. I will _end_ you.”

Clint grumbled something unflattering under his breath, turned off his hearing aids, and turned himself toward the passenger window to shut her out. Natasha took it with a grain of salt a few minutes later when he began to snore.

Of course he was grumpy. Poor guy was exhausted. 

They sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Tappan Zee Bridge for a half an hour. Natasha took that opportunity to crane herself around and reach for the blanket folded up on the back seat. She flapped it open and gently draped it around Clint, whose blond spikes were mashed against the window. He was chewing his lip in his sleep, lashes fluttering, and Nat’s breath caught. Clint gusted a sigh and burrowed further under the blanket, and Nat turned her attention back to the road.

*

Clint was a bleery, yawning, tousled mess when they turned off on the rest stop exit for the promised dinner. The scents of shaved beef and tomato sauce greeted them in the lobby at Papa Gino’s, and Clint muttered “Gotta piss” before loping off to the men’s. Nat told the hostess at the counter that they wanted a table for two. Natasha ordered them waters and an appetizer of breadsticks and marinara and perused the menu, even though she already knew what Clint would order. A few moments later, she caught Clint back at the lobby, looking momentarily panicked as he glanced around for her.

“Clint!” She waved him over, and he gave her an exaggerated - or was it? - look of relief before rushing over.

“Shit. Don’t _do_ that.”

“Where was I going to go?”

“Barney did that to me once. To be funny. That fucker.”

Natasha sobered and shoved the breadsticks across the table. “Want the usual?”

“Yeah. That… yeah. That sounds good. All meat, right?”

“That’s usually the usual.”

Natasha was hungrier than she expected, but she held back a little to let Clint eat his fill of the breadsticks and large pizza. 

“Did you not eat today?”

“Num-f’n murch,” he garbled back as he took another huge bite of a folded slice, dropping discs of black olive back onto his plate. “Jus’ ‘ungry.”

“Awwww.”

Nat was loath to get back into the cramped car, but she didn’t want to get back too late if she could avoid it. Night driving sucked. They turned back onto the freeway on-ramp, and Clint was more animated.

“Hey. You’re going to Tony’s, right? For New Year’s?”

“I was going to ask you about it. Not that I wanted to actually, go, but-”

“C’mon, Nat! Please? If you don’t, everybody’s gonna ask me why you aren’t there.”

“Pfffft… why?”

“Because everybody wants to see you. And they think I know your social calendar. I don’t want to hear “So, when’s Natasha showing up? We want Natasha! Where’s Natasha, Clint?’” He gave her a long-suffering look and threw up his hands. Nat shook her head and wrinkled her nose.

“You’ll be fine if I don’t go. You’re a big boy.”

“No, I won’t,” he insisted. “You know it’ll suck without you. And I already promised Rogers I’d go, which means I promised him you’d go, too.”

Nat tsked loudly and slapped the steering wheel. “CLINT.”

“What? What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a big deal. I wanna loaf around and do nothing. I don’t want to have to be ‘social.’” She made airquotes one-handed around the word. 

“I’m not gonna be social. I’m just gonna eat all the food and drink Tony’s beer. That’s not being social. And I’m gonna hang out with Bucky and Steve.”

“Bucky’s coming?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha dimly remembered a different house party from junior year. Wine coolers. Spin the bottle. Seven minutes in heaven in a cramped coat closet. Bucky’s breath smelled like spearmint Tic Tacs and his hands had been very warm. But he never texted her the next day, despite asking her for her number.

Darcy wanted her to go. And she even had something for her to wear.

It would be nice just to show up for spite.

“Maybe you should wear that one sweater you have,” she suggested. 

“The purple one?”

“No. The black one. It’s nice.”

Clint huffed, “It’s not my favorite.”

“It makes your shoulders look really big.”

“Never mind. It’s my favorite.” Then he realized, “Hey. Does this mean you’re going with me?”

She almost corrected him, _This means I might go, and who said anything about with you?_

His blue eyes were hopeful, and a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

She reached over and wiped off a fleck of sauce from his chin. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not a hard no.”

“Which sounds like a soft yes to me.”

Nat gave him a loud, aggrieved sigh. Clint pumped his fist. “Yessssss!” Nat ducked her face and smirked down at her pizza, waving him off.

*

Natasha lifted his duffel out from the trunk, shaking off his attempts to do it himself, and she walked him up to his front door.

“This is supposed to go the other way around.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Okay. You’re safe and sound.” Before Clint could rummage in his pockets for his key, the front door opened, revealing Barney dressed in holey jeans and a wifebeater tank, despite the chilly weather. Clint gave him a relieved smile and only fought him halfheartedly when Barney swatted him upside the head.

“Bout time you got home,” he remarked. “Sup, Tasha.” He opened the screen door and turned sideways to let her in, even though she had no intention of staying. Clint’s father’s truck sat in the driveway.

“I’m good. I’m headed home,” she offered. “I didn’t want you to lose this,” she added, nodding to Clint.

“Ya had to bring him back here?” Barney joked, but he tugged Clint over for a bruising hug and reached up to ruffle his hair. They shared similar looks; Barney’s auburn hair was just as unruly as Clint’s, and he had more freckles and a sturdier build. 

“Next time, don’t put a name tag on the back of his neck with his return address,” Natasha teased.

“I’m still standing right here, y’know.”

“Pop’s asleep,” Barney told him.

Clint visibly shrank, and he took his bag from Natasha quietly. “Thanks for the lift. Call me tomorrow whenever you’re up?”

“I will when I do laundry,” she promised.

“Laundry, huh? Here, take a whiff of me, I’ve been wearing this sweatshirt for three days!” Clint pulled her in for a hug and then lifted his armpit.

“Oh, God! You’re killing me, that’s ripe! Clint!” She swatted at him, and Barney sniggered at the two of them as she fought her way loose. Natasha jogged down the short brick steps from the porch and darted into her car. Barney and Clint waved her off, and she returned home to the promise of hot tea, cuddles with her cat, and her mother’s inevitable grilling.

*

The McMansion sat on a one-acre lot and boasted a small fountain at the center of the circular driveway. The normally immaculate lawn was already covered with a light layer of snow that crunched beneath Natasha’s boots, which admittedly weren’t meant to see weather harsher than a misty fog. 

“You look good,” Darcy told her. “I gained ten out of the freshman fifteen. I feel like a blimp.”

“Don’t worry about it. You look fine. I can’t even see it.”

“My jeans still fit, but _barely_.” But Darcy shifted gears. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna take one look at all of the food and try half of it.”

“Right? I’m so sick of dorm food. I can’t look one more chicken strip in the eye.”

“Where’s Clint?”

“He was napping when I stopped by. He’s just whipped. I think he needs more iron.”

“Hmm.”

“Why?”

“I just figured he’d come with you.”

“Why?” Natasha wrinkled her nose as she rang the doorbell. Loud music pounded behind the door, and the girls heard the clink of beer bottles amid the clamor. Natasha had to park her tiny car on the edge of the block, making her wish they’d gotten there a little earlier.

But she felt a wash of relief tinged with homesickness when Tony yanked open the door, did a slinky pose against the frame, and purred, “Yessssssssss?”

“You dork,” Natasha cried as she and Darcy both tackled him. Natasha smelled Jameson on his breath and some of his Dad’s Burberry cologne, heightened by his sweat. So far, all of his clothes were still tucked in, but who knew over the next hour or two. His deep-set brown eyes were already a little glazed.

“I missed you too. I won’t file a harassment suit if either of you decide to get frisky- hey, where’s Barton? He didn’t come with you?”

Natasha pulled just far enough back to scowl up at him. “I’m not his keeper.”

“Oh, no. You are. You’re Clint’s keeper. That man can’t see straight or tie his shoes without your supervision. I guarantee you that as of this very minute, he’s putting his underwear on backwards and talking to strangers.”

“He’ll be here soon enough.”

“You sound awfully confident.” Tony gave her a little shake, kissed the tip of her nose and then released her, but he kept an arm around Darcy.

“Feed me,” she commanded.

“As you wish, madam. Can I interest you in a coconut shrimp or a pig in a blanket? Or the lobster dip?”

“Ooh, dip me, baby!”

“That was just the opening I was looking for,” he mused, and Darcy cackled as he arched her back dramatically over his arm.

“Okay, now. For real, feed me.”

“Right this way.”

Natasha handed off her coat to Jarvis but left on her skinny chenille scarf, deciding that the house was just drafty enough to warrant it; the growing crush of bodies would change that as the night wore on. The neckline of the sweater dipped down in a low V in the back, just as questionable a choice for the weather as her gray boots.

“Aren’t you cold in that?”

“What?” It’s a sweater,” she argued as she turned around and found Steve sipping a can of Sprite.

“That barely counts as a sweater. That’s a washcloth.”

“It’s knitted. Therefore, it counts as a sweater.” She hugged him softly, enjoying his deep chuckle. “Has anybody been feeding you at that fancy art school?”

“I can’t help it if I’m still allergic to everything.” Steve pushed his dark-rimmed reading glasses up on his nose and shrugged. “You look great, Tasha.”

“Thanks. I’m just giving you shit. You look great, too. I’m jealous that you haven’t gained a pound.”

“Pfffft. Thanks, I guess. No, seriously, you look great. Hey, did Clint come with you?”

“What? You’re on the Find Clint Brigade?”

“He said he was ridesharing with you before he came home. I just figured…” Steve’s voice died off, and he shrugged. “No big deal.” He straddled one of the dining room chairs and grabbed a sourdough bread cube, eschewing the several different dips and eating it plain. “He just said he was hoping you’d come, and you’re actually here. Sorry if I assumed anything.”

“There’s nothing to assume,” she told him as she took one of the cocktail shrimp and dipped it in the spicy red sauce. “He’ll get here soon enough.”

*

An hour went by, and Nat’s toes began to complain in the pointy boots. The second half of a wine cooler had gone flat from her failure to do more than sip it. “Come on, Barton,” she hissed under her breath. 

It took forever for him to answer her texts. 

_Just woke up. Why does taking a nap make you feel worse?_

Then, _You’re sure about the black sweater?_

And then, _Barney needs his car, so he’s dropping me off._

Well, that just explained it all. Natasha paced the kitchen and fumed and kept sneaking looks out the window. 

“Hey, Natalia.”

Bucky. He’d grown out his hair. It was just long enough to hang past his collar. Natasha was on the fence as to whether or not she liked it. He was still clean-shaven and fit, and the slate blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up brought out his eyes (and his arms). Natasha hoisted herself up onto the kitchen counter and kicked out her legs, because why not show them off in the short, dark leather skirt?

“Hey, James.”

He gave her a bashful, crooked smile. “You’re the only one who calls me that.”

“Why not? It’s your name. And I don’t know anyone else who calls me Natalia.”

“Natalia Alianovna,” he said, with a flourish. “Because why not?”

Nat ducked her face and took another sip of her wine cooler, even though she didn’t want the rest of it. Her cheeks heated up beneath his scrutiny.

“Because no one calls me that. Even Clint doesn’t call me that, because he knows better.”

Bucky huffed. “But you admit you give Clint privilege?”

“I don’t admit to anything,” she said curtly. Natasha took a sip of her drink that she hoped looked demure. 

“So, he’s not special?” 

It felt like he was fishing. Natasha wasn’t sure of whether to take the bait. 

But the gleam of headlights through the window gave her pause. That was the car that Barney and Clint shared, and she saw Clint’s tall frame hunched over slightly to fit its compact shell. She didn’t try to quell the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth when he stepped out of the car, wearing his dark jeans without her even nagging him to. His breath jumped out of his mouth in short, misty puffs as he leaned down to talk to Barney through the open car door, slammed it shut, then continued to talk to him through the window. Nat grinned as the brothers flipped each other the bird as Barney sped off. 

“Ask Clint if he thinks I think he’s special. See what answer he gives you.”

Yet, she was squirming to hop down from the counter, fighting the urge to gallop to the front door for the welcome distraction it would provide, so that she wouldn’t give in to the urge to demand _Why didn’t you ever text me, and how dare you be such an amazing kisser?_ Because Bucky had to know the question was right on the tip of her tongue. 

He could do so many unspeakable things with his. It was an injustice that she only found out _once_.

She heard the commotion in the foyer as he came in, but Natasha continued to give Bucky her attention.

“How’s NYU?”

“I can’t wait til I’m done with my GE,” he admitted. “I love my Russian class that I took as an elective, though.”

“I was thinking about that next semester.”

“Good. Take it, so we can talk shit about everybody the next time we all get together like this. Just like ASL Club all over again.”

“That’s not why I joined ASL Club,” she argued. 

“I know it’s not.” Bucky took a gulp of his beer. “We both know why.”

Natasha’s smile thinned. “Excuse me?”

“I’m gonna go catch up with Rogers. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Bucky wandered out from the kitchen, and she heard his fond tones mingling with Steve’s in the living room, followed by the distinctive, low back slaps of a hug. Fine, then. She hopped down from the counter and disconsolately gulped down the rest of the wine cooler, chucking the empty bottle into the recycling bin. 

She drank in the sight of him as he took off his jacket, unwinding his long purple scarf. His hair was a little less of a disaster than usual and looked like he’d made half an effort with product, and he had a tiny band-aid on his clean-shaven jaw. Clint looked more rested than usual, eyes bright, but he still owned his tall guy slouch, arms folded and leaning against every available surface. Natasha caught his eye for a moment just as Darcy grabbed her. 

“Try the shrimp. It’s like heaven in my mouth.”

“I don’t like coconut.”

“Then we can’t be friends,” Darcy threatened.

“All the more for you.”

“Wait. Never mind. Good point. Still. You’re totally missing out. These are the _bomb_. Hey, there’s your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” Nat argued, but she watched Clint’s lopsided smile as he came closer, and she only pretended to fight him as he looped an arm around her neck.

“I really wanted to wear my purple sweater. This one makes me look like a goof.”

“That’s not the sweater’s fault. You _always_ look like a goof.”

He pouted. “You’re mean.”

“Truth hurts.” Then, “You know I’m just giving you shit. You look nice, dumbass.”

Clint made a face and pretended to pick his nose. “Even when I do this?”

“Okay, get away from me, ew!”

This time she fought him, and the two of them slapped at each other for a moment. “Hey. Wait. Quit it,” he hissed. 

“What? Why?”

“Just… quit it. Give me a minute.” Clint grasped her shoulders and turned her around for a second. “Don’t look over there.”

“Over where?”

“She just showed up. Tony didn’t tell me she’d be here.”

Nat’s eyes drifted over his shoulder despite - or perhaps because of - his injunction not to look, and she spied Bobbi in all of her tall, blonde glory. Her lean curves were poured into a black and white dress, and she knew how to use product; her hair fell in perfect, soft spirals. She looked every inch like she was out of the league of every man in the room.

“Okay, totally told you not to look, and now you’re staring, Nat. Thanks.”

“No’m not.”

“You’re _totally_ staring.”

“Hard not to, when you told me to look by telling me not to look. Okay. Now what?”

“Huh?”

“She’s coming over here.” And Natasha was already rearranging her face into her Safe Smile, ignoring Clint’s low, hissed “Fuck.”

“Okay. Okay, this looks bad… shit. Okay. New plan.”

“What do you mean, new-”

“Just go with it. I’m sorry in advance,” he offered as he took her shoulders and gently, quickly pulled her in.

Natasha opened her mouth to protest, until the urge to slowly, sweetly died. Clint’s mouth. Warm. Firm. The sounds around them seemed to melt away for precious seconds, and her hands drifted up to clutch at his sweater as Clint tilted his face and deepened what her mind now processed was a kiss. She didn’t recognize the sound she made in response, but it reminded her suspiciously of a _whimper_. Natasha’s heart pounded and she heard a low rushing in her ears. Clint smelled like too much Axe and that funny little “Clint” smell, almost like flesh-warmed leather, and his fingers were warm as she swept back that lock of hair that she’d left to perfectly, “messily” frame her face. Natasha’s stomach flipped. Heat pooled in it deliciously for several seconds.

It was over too soon. Clint came up for air and released her almost too sharply. “She’s gone,” he muttered.

“What?” Nat felt dazed and off-balance.

“Shit. Sorry. Bobbi. Uh. Yeah. We. Might’ve. Kinda. Done the do. Once. I mean, we sort of dated? But. It didn’t pan out.”

It dawned on her what had transpired. “Jesus, Clint! Really?!”

“Natty…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I’m sorry! It’s… I needed a quick… c’mon, don’t! Aw, Nat, no!” Natasha turned on her heel and stalked off to the back of the house, not even knowing where she was going.

The kiss was too fresh. Her cheeks were on fire and her heart was still pounding. She managed to lose Clint in the crowd, but she had no idea how long that would last.

Fifteen seconds.

Damn his long legs.

He managed to cram his foot in the door before she could slam it shut. “Nat,” he pleaded on a low hiss. “Please, don’t. Don’t be mad, please?”

“What was that?”

“It was dumb. And I’m… I’m dumb. I just. Okay. That was me being petty. She kinda had the last word when we broke up. She ran into me “by accident” at the gym with a new guy. Some ‘Lance’ asshole.”

“What are you doing, giving me your cooties?” Natasha flared.

Clint huffed.

“That’s not okay. You don’t just barely warn a girl before going for it like that!”

“I kinda warned you… okay. Not enough warning. My bad. I’m the worst. I’m the worst friend. Please tell me we’re still friends.”

Nat tried to shut the door again, but he held fast and shoved his way in through the gap, forcing her back until he could shut it himself.

“Natty.” His voice was tinged with guilt. Natasha didn’t know if that was the most upsetting thing about that moment or not. “It wasn’t okay. I know that. Just… y’know. If you ever need me to return the favor, it’s okay. You know that, right?”

“What?” 

“That… sounded better in my head.”

“Wait. You mean, if I ever need to just randomly kiss you to piss off someone else, I can?”

“Yeah, that sounded pretty stupid.”

“How on earth are we still friends?” Natasha laughed, throwing up her hands.

“Are we? I mean, we still are, I hope, ,but that also depends on how hard you hit me.” And Natasha brandished her hand, preparing to strike his chest, and he braced himself, but she left it drop.

“Everyone’s been asking me about you all night. About why we didn’t come together.”

“You’re not my mom,” Clint agreed, tsking. 

“They probably don’t think I’m your mom, now, pal.”

Clint snickered, and this time, she did swat him. Clint inclined his head, giving her the puppy dog eyes. “Still hate me?”

“Wouldn’t matter. You’d still be a goof.”

“It would too matter,” he said softly. “You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had, and I can’t afford to fuck that up.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t follow me out yet. Give me a minute head start.”

She regretted leaving that quiet, close space, though, and the comfort of his scent.


	4. The Weirdos That You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New faces. New (used) textbooks. New excuses for Clint and Nat to keep dancing around what's between them.
> 
> Until their best, worst friends give them a little push.

The night just went further awry.

Natasha stood pat with a single wine cooler under her belt, knowing she had to eventually drive. Clint made repeat trips to the beer cooler. Natasha knew she’d end up giving him a ride home, since they lived the closest to each other, and since it was a habit by now. He’d complain about her Hobbit-sized car, up would go his feet onto the dash, and he’d be out like a light for the rest of the trip. 

They hovered on each other’s periphery. Janet filled her ear about her first semester design projects and kept shooting looks across the room.

“I can’t believe those two went out. She never saw anything in him before.”

“Who never saw what?”

“Clint. And Bobbi. She’s just so put together, and Clint’s… just. Clint. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s gorgeous, but he’s such a hot mess.”

“Clint’s Clint. And Bobbi’s not all that great,” Nat snapped. “So what if her legs reach all the way up to her ears?”

Janet snorted into her drink. “Okay. I didn’t need to breathe, oh, my God-” and she coughed up a fit while Natasha rubbed her back.

“It just wasn’t meant to be between those two. It’s not the end of the world, is it?”

Janet continued to cough up a lung while Natasha loaded a cracker with pepper jam and Brie.

“Oh, look at that, an empty wine bottle!” Tony called out. “Don’t ask me where the wine went, it must have evaporated in the heat of the room. Gather around, everybody. C’mon. Spin the bottle, just like old times! Spin the bottle? The night wouldn’t be complete without lots of inappropriate touching and PDA.”

Cheers and whistles greeted his announcement, and Natasha eyed the exit.

“You can’t wuss out,” Darcy warned as she saw Natasha start to ease away.

“I don’t know where everybody’s lips have been.”

“You know where Clint’s have been,” Darcy corrected her. She knocked her shoulder into Nat’s when she glared at Darcy and said, “Hey. We all saw it. Looked like Barton was practicing for midnight. Am I right?”

“Sure.” 

Sure.

They dragged chairs noisily across the floor and crowded the sofas, abandoning plates of food but still clutching drinks.

“Wherever it lands, that’s who you kiss. I don’t make the rules - oh, no, wait, yes I do, this is my house. Bottle has to spin around clockwise at least three times. Let it choose.”

Tony headed for the center and laid the bottle down with an ominous clunk. “Ooooh,” he purred before giving it a flick that sent it spinning.

“Fuck.”

The neck of the bottle pointed toward Rhodey, who promptly threw up his hands, and he gave Tony a warning look. “We’ve had this talk before, Tony.”

Tony made kissy faces and reached into his pocket, grabbing some Tic-Tacs.

“Oh, you just keep those in your pocket, now? You cheated. That bottle was rigged, right?”

“C’mon, James. You know you want to. Can’t hide what’s inside.”

“If I see one phone out - oh, come ON!” Smartphones went up around the room in an instant. Janet and Nat giggled as they fished out theirs.

“So help me, Tony, if there’s any tongue, we are not fri- stop that. Just don’t.”

Tony cackled and finally kissed him squarely on the mouth, a loud, surprisingly chaste peck, Rhodey shrugged his shoulders. “Wasn’t half bad,” he muttered to a hail of cheers.

“HA! Okay. Next! Go around the circle. Rogers! You’re up next.” 

Steve pointed to himself, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“STEVE! STEVE! STEVE!” Chanting went around the room, and predictably, his cheeks flushed deep scarlet.

“This is so _not_ right. Kill me now,” he muttered as he hunkered down onto the floor and dutifully spun the bottle. Round and round it went.

The room erupted into more cheers when it landed on Bucky, who paused mid-sip and had to wipe away the stray drop of beer before it dribbled down his chin. “What just happened?”

“Rogers just happened,” Clint called out. “Go get ‘im, buddy.”

“This is gonna be good,” Darcy whispered to Nat. “Kinda wish I was Steve right now.”

“Sure you do.” Nat wanted to feel a little resentment because it wasn’t her turn, yet the way Steve was watching Bucky gave her pause. He stood up and backed away from the bottle, as if it would bite him, and he smoothed the back of his hair nervously.

Bucky’s grin reached its full wattage. “C’mere, Rogers.” He patted his lap. “Tell me what you want for Christmas.”

Steve dissolved into nervous snickers. “C’mon, Buck! Really?!”

“C’mon. Bring that cute tushy over here.”

“This isn’t happening,” Steve muttered as Bucky gave his lap another little slap.

“It’s happening. Dreams do come true, pal.”

“I love my parties,” Tony said to no one in particular. Behind him, both Peters nodded emphatically.

“Get it, Rogers,” Logan encouraged. “Make it snappy. Some of us want a turn with that bottle.”

“STEVE! STEVE! STEVE! STEVE!”

Steve closed the distance between then and sank down onto Bucky’s lap. Bucky cackled, and his blue-gray eyes glowed with humor.

“What do you want for Christmas, young man?” he teased.

“Do you really wanna know what I want?”Bucky’s hand steadied him where he sat, palm flattening at his lower back, and Steve’s fingers curled themselves in Bucky’s collar before he could stop himself. He planted one on him. Not just a peck. Not entirely chaste. And not brief. Even from where she sat, Natasha heard Bucky’s sharp intake of breath and saw Bucky’s fingers clutch at the back of Steve’s sweater, and his eyes drifted shut. Loud cheers went up around the room.

Steve drew back, looking dazed. “That… that was enough, right? That’s it?”

Bucky giggled helplessly. “You’re no good for a guy’s ego, Rogers.”

“What? I didn/t mean it like that!”

“I’m just giving you shit, Stevie.”

“Can I get up now?”

“No.”

They play-wrestled for a few seconds, and Steve “conceded” and stayed right where he was.

“Looks comfy,” Darcy remarked.

“Bucky doesn’t skip leg day,” Sam agreed. “Gotta get those thighs of betrayal.”

The next hour was a loud, raucous blur. Some of the kisses were sweet; Logan’s needed to be outlawed, but Natasha didn’t regret when the bottle chose him for her.

“You think _I’m_ a disaster, but _he’s_ a disaster,” Clint warned.

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?”

“Just so you know.”

As the night progressed, they found themselves ensconced on the couch with thick, deep cushions that seemed to swallow them up. Clint’s head slumped over onto her shoulder, and Nat sighed loudly up at him.

“Really?”

“M’wiped out,” Clint complained.

“I’ll leave you here and let everybody draw dicks on your face,” she threatened.

“No, you won’t. Because you love me.”

“Do not.”

“Do, too.”

“Ugh,” she insisted, but she adjusted her shoulder a notch, and he burrowed into it, getting comfortable.

“Do, too,” Clint murmured triumphantly.

“Hmmph.”

Tony turned on the television to the “Rockin’ New Year’s Eve” special for the last ten minutes, while his guests scavenged for the last of the snacks. 

“I want to marry this shrimp.” Darcy scooped up one more and devoured it. “So good.”

“Who needs to stay over? I need a head count,” Tony called out. “Jarvis went to Target today and bought out all the air mattresses. It’s air mattresses or Ubers. Let me know.”

“Are you taking him home, Nat?” Steve bent down close to ask.

“Huh? Oh. Shit.” Clint had nodded off, sure enough. Natasha looped her hand through the crook of Clint’s arm protectively. “Yeah. He’s riding with me.”

Steve nodded, pleased. “Good. He’s in good hands.”

Not surprisingly, Steve returned to Bucky, who automatically threw an arm around his shoulders, a familiar gesture ever since they played Little League together, but this time, Steve really leaned into it. He was still flushed and giggly, made even worse when Bucky squeezed him and gave him a little shake. He leaned down and whispered something into his good ear that made him laugh outright and clutch at Bucky’s chest.

Well, then. Natasha wouldn’t look for Bucky when it was time for midnight kisses.

The last minutes ticked down onscreen, and Tony turned up the volume. “Get ready,” he called out. “Find that special someone. Or not that special. It’s a new year, we’ve got three hundred sixty four more days to get it right, folks. What happens on winter break, stays in winter break.” He offered Darcy a Tic-Tac; Rhodey waved off the same offer with a brief “I’m good.”

Bobbi stood curled in Lance’s loose embrace and watched Clint and Nat curiously.

“Clint. Wake up. It’s almost time. You don’t want to miss out.”

“Wha’m I missing?”

“The ball drop.”

“The ball sac?”

“Ball drop, silly.”

“Good. That other thing… sounded… awful,” he said through a yawn. 

“Ten...nine… eight… seven… six...five… four...three…”

Natasha always thought New Year’s was overrated. Usually it meant sitting with her parents in front of the TV and bingeing on junk food and listening to them complain about how the TV special just “wasn’t the same” without Dick Clark. Her father would complain about how people were driving like maniacs and that Natasha was better off at home instead of out with her friends. 

But this wasn’t so bad. She was with her best friend, among the rest of their friends, before they had to go back to exams and cramming at the library and laundry and dorm food and quiet hours. Clint’s head shifted, then lifted up off its perch, and before she could tell him “Happy New Year,” he gave her a soft kiss that was almost apologetic.

“Had to do it. S’New Year. It’s the rule,” he told her before he nodded off again.

“Sure.”

Sure.

*

The house emptied out at a slow trickle; Tony’s closest inner circle took him up on the offer of air mattresses and futons while Natasha poured Clint into the passenger seat and got him buckled in.

“I was gonna call Barney.”

“He never would’ve answered. You know your brother by now.”

“He’s gonna use up all the gas after I just fiilled the tank,” he moaned. “Why do I bother, Natty?”

“Because you don’t want to act like you know better, even though you do. And because he’s your brother.”

Natasha cranked the heater and turned on the wiper blades when sleet began to fall. Clint tipped his head in her direction and watched her with bleery eyes.

“You look cute tonight.”

“Do not.”

“Do, too. I like you in that. Why don’t you dress like that all the time?”

“Because it takes work. It takes a lot of work to make it look like I just ‘threw this together,’ Barton.”

“Still cute.” Clint gave her a dopey grin, and Nat lightly shoved him.

“Go back to sleep. You’ve still got a few minutes.”

She watched the planes of light from overhead street lamps pass over his face, making his blond hair glow. Her insides clenched. Natasha found herself wondering again what had changed. Why this felt the way it felt.

*

They met at Clint’s house later that week to go laundry and take down his Christmas tree. Nat laughed at the old elementary school ornaments featuring photos of him with gap teeth and nerdy haircuts. He kept trying and failing to snatch them out of her hands.

“Look at you, you were such a dork!”

“Will you put that away? Please?”

“Heck, no. I’m hanging this up in my dorm. Better yet, I’ll put it in the study lounge, up on the bulletin board. This needs to be shared with the world.”

“Meanie. Just for that, I’m gonna hang up that middle school photo that you hate. The one where you decided to go short with your hair.”

Her face flatlined. “Don’t even kid about that. I swear, I will _end_ you.”

His eyes gleamed. “I know where my old yearbook is, too.” 

“Clint… Clint! CLINT! Don’t you dare!”

He darted upstairs to his room and she followed hot on his heels. She found him fishing the old, slightly battered yearbook out of his closet from under a pile of - surprise! - dirty laundry and old sneakers that probably hadn’t fit his big feet since eighth grade. Clint opened the front flap and crowed as he held up the wallet-size color photo that she now regretted giving him.

“This is going back to school with me - nope! Too slow!” He held it up over his head when she tried to snatch it from him.

“Clint! CLINT! Don’t! I swear, we are not friends if you take that with you!”

“Nope. You gave it to me to treasure forever, and I’m gonna.”

“This means _war_ , Barton.”

He didn’t like that look in her eye. “Shit,” he yelped. 

“Give. Me. The photo.”

“Not on your life.”

She chased him around the room, cornering him when he ran around to the other side of the bed, but Clint bounded over the other side, making the mattress bounce. Nat made a grab for the picture again and ended up catching his sleeve instead. They were laughing and cursing breathlessly as she tackled him, dragging him down to the floor.

“Give it to me. No. Give it to me. So help me… you are _not_ letting that picture leave this house.”

“Why not? It’s cute. You were cute, with your little Molly Ringwald cut, all you needed was the pink lipstick and a flowered hat - no, don’t punch me there! NAT! DON’T!”

“I did not look like Molly. Take that back.”

“Did too. Everybody thought so. Only thing missing was the freckles.”

The struggled devolved to a tickle fight until they were both gasping, and Nat realized she was straddling him, and -

“God, get off me, Barton. You’re demented. Burn that picture.” She got up with a huff, and he just grinned up at her.

“Help me up. C’mon, don’t just leave me here.”

She went to pull him up, but he tugged her off balance, and she landed against him, making them both “OOF!” And there she was, sprawled against him. His fingers idly found their way into her hair.

“I won’t take it out of the house. I swear. But I’m still keeping it.”

“Jerk.”

“Hey. You gave it to me. You can’t take it back, Nat.”

And he was right. It wasn’t like she didn’t have at least a dozen photos of Clint in her own albums at home that would make perfect material for blackmail, right? Bad haircuts, bad judgment, band-aids and all.

He stroked her hair, and she blew out a long, slow sigh and tweaked at his sweater’s nubby knit.

“This wouldn’t have pilled so much if you washed it in warm water,” she nagged.

“You weren’t around to stop me.”

“Please tell me you have something to eat.”

He pondered it a moment. “I really don’t.”

“Then we’re making a Costco run. I’m craving a churro.”

“Get pizza instead.”

She couldn’t shake off the sensation of how his hands felt, or the slow, pleasant thump of his heartbeat beneath her cheek even after they were bundled up in her car, riding down the road.

*

Clint came back to a new roommate who was just as much as a disaster as he was. Daken had a growing collection of tattoos and an impressive Mohawk, piercings in interesting places, and daddy issues to rival Clint’s. 

“Okay,” Clint muttered as he watched him unpack his trunk.

“I’m a night owl, just so you know. Just don’t eat my food, and we’ll get along fine. And people tell me I talk in my sleep.”

“Like, incoherent muttering, or full-length dissertations?”

“Got me. I never remember it.”

“Right. Okay.”

“My kid sister might come to visit and stay over once in a while. If you lay a finger on her, I’ll cut your dick off in your sleep.”

“That’s fair.”

“Got any siblings?”

“Just an older brother who occasionally does time. And he never visits.”

Daken nodded, briefly punched Clint’s shoulder, and told him “Let’s go hit the bookstore before all the used books are gone.”

“What’s your major?”

“Graphic Design, with a minor in Photography. You?”

“Undeclared.”

“Even thought about picking one yet?”

Clint shook his head. “I came to college to get away from my dad.”

Daken’s caffeine of choice was Monster drinks. Clint mainlined coffee.

Natasha knocked on their door later that afternoon and looked confused when Daken answered the door.

“Christmas came early,” he remarked as he stared her up and down.

“Christmas just went by,” she corrected him. “Please tell me Clint is still here?”

Daken deflated. “Girlfriend?”

“Best friend,” she corrected him again. “I’m stealing this dork from you for a few hours.”

“What if I don’t wanna be stolen?”

“It’s not like you have a choice.” She let herself in, and Daken moved aside, watching Natasha toss Clint’s beanie and jacket at him, smacking him squarely in the face. “Hurry up. The Frozen matinee starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Ooh! Never mind! I’m coming! Where did you park the car?” Clint scrambled into his jacket, crammed his hat onto his head, and grabbed his keys.

“I told you yesterday that we were going.”

“That was yesterday, though. Which is like not telling me.”

“Bye, whoever you are.”

“Daken. Or you can call me Aki, I answer to both.”

“He’s ‘edgy,” Clint explained.

“I can see that.”

“Later!” Clint offered as they hurried out. They were a study in contrasts, and Daken could see who called the shots in that friendship, if that indeed was what it was.

“Wow.”

*

“How’s it time for mid-terms already?” Clint groaned.

“That’s what happens when you keep showing up to class, buddy.”

“Technically, they happen even when I _don’t_ , but then they just don’t happen to _me_.”

“Focus, Barton. Keep quizzing me.”

“Why? You know all this stuff.”

“The point is to know it really well so I get the decent grade and I don’t lose my financial aid.”

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Clint threatened. He laid his head down over his forearms and closed his eyes.

“Just for a few minutes.” Nat dug into her purse for her phone when she heard it ping; Clint lifted his head when his own buzzed in his pocket.

“It’s Daken,” she remarked.

“Huh. It is.”

“Why would he text both… oh. Huh.” Natasha stared down at the message and read it aloud. “Hey, guys, I was wondering if you would possibly be interested in helping me for a photo assignment. I need models for a black-and-white study. The two of you would make an interesting contrast that would really work for what I’ve got planned.”

“Interesting contrast? What does that even mean?”

“I dunno. We look different, obviously. Might as well ask him when you see him.”

“Sounds like some weird artsy-fartsy shit.”

“You like art.”

“He can put up an ad on the bulletin boards. Or Craigslist.”

“Clint. There’s all kinds of psychos on Craigslist. And at least we’re the weirdos that he knows.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“No, I can confidently speak for you, too, buddy boy.”

Clint snorted and laid his head back down.

“C’mon. It might be fun.”

“It sounds weird, but okay.”

*

America stopped by Daken’s table in the dining hall and poked him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He took out his earbuds and nodded for her to take the other seat. “What’s up?”

“Did you ask them?”

“I just sent them a text. Nat sounds like she’s down.”

“Good. That means Barton’s in, too.” She smirked. “I can’t wait to see what happens.”

“She says they’re just friends.”

“You can tell they’re so totally _not_. Saying Nat and Clint don’t have the hots for each other is like saying Kate’s not my girlfriend in the actual ‘girlfriend’ sense.”

Daken snorted. Then he shrugged.

“You need models for your assignment.”

“I still haven’t told them that it involves being nude.”

America pealed off an evil little laugh. “I can’t wait.”


	5. Is This My Best Side?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Nat do Clint's new roommate a favor.
> 
> Things change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okey dokey, then.

“Dude. Who plans a naked photo shoot in the middle of March?”

“It’s going to be indoors, silly. The weather doesn’t matter if we’re not outside in the altogether.”

Natasha parked her car in the unmetered lot, shivering against the drafts. Clint was right; the weather was shit. The art studio was on the sketchy side of town, and Nat tucked her purse protectively under her arm, shivering inside her jacket. The cold night breeze made the furry trim around her hood tickle her cheeks. She argued with Clint just to be contrary, hoping upon hope that the studio had a decent heater.

They saw Daken as the headed toward the entrance he mentioned in his message, second door on the right. He blew on his fingers to warm them before he waved them over. “Hey. You made it. Nice!” Nat saw his camera case slung by its strap around his neck, and he was bundled to the teeth. Daken ushered them in ahead of himself and clicked on the light. They headed down the hall, toward a studio that thankfully lacked any windows. It smelled dusty, almost chalky, and Natasha sneezed.

“Bless you,” Daken told her.

“Thanks. It’s… not much warmer in here than it is outside,” she pointed out.

“I can adjust the thermostat,” Daken offered. He set down his camera and made no move to take off any of his outer garments. Clint tugged off his gloves using his teeth and unwound his scarf from his neck. He had a Batman band-aid on his cheek from an unfortunate encounter with an icicle. His skin was rosy and a little chapped from the cold, and the wind made his blue eyes watery. They glistened a little. Not like Natasha was noticing, or anything…

Daken messed around with the thermostat as he promised, muttering the whole time. “I can never remember if it’s supposed to be on ‘Auto’ or ‘Fan’ to run.”

Nat watched him impatiently, stomping her feet to urge some warmth into her toes. She gazed around the room at the mounted drawings and framed photographs. 

“Who did that one?” she asked, nodding to a gorgeous watercolor painting using a very splattered technique.

“My friend Miles.”

“Nice. It’s nice.”

“Know what? I’m gonna just get the space heater. You guys can get ready wherever. And I have to set up the lights.”

“I ain’t gettin’ ready until there’s heat,” Clint warned.

“Wussy,” Daken teased, but he shrugged.

“You aren’t the one dropping trou, buddy boy.”

Natasha’s stomach clenched as she reminded herself what they were there to do. It didn’t seem like a big deal on the ride over, but they were there, the studio felt strange; awkwardness fell over Natasha like a cloak.

Clint distracted himself with a couple of wooden posable figurines, bending them into ridiculous shapes. He smirked at her when he caught her staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Quit it, then.”

“Pfffft…”

Daken hauled out a space heater that looked like an OSHA violation, but as soon as he plugged it in and turned it on, heat bloomed from its bright, glowing orange coils, and Nat made an appreciative noise. Daken moved around the studio, shedding his jacket, setting up lights and props. He unrolled a plain white screen from the ceiling to use as a backdrop.

“Go ahead and start getting ready,” Daken urged. “I’ve got this place booked for about an hour and a half before the figure drawing class gets here. Unless you two wanna stick around to pose for a bunch of boomers and soccer moms drawing for credit or non-credit, we need to beat feet when we’re done.”

“I know what you wanna see, pal,” Clint teased. Daken rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

“Seen it. Somebody keeps sleeping in the nude no matter how many times I scream, ‘My eyes! Oh, dear Lord, my eyes!’”

“Figured you were screaming in your sleep. You do that, too. We had that talk.”

“Sure, we did.”

“Hey. You were sleeping, so.”

“Just strip down, Barton. Quit stalling.”

Natasha bit her lip, chuckling under her breath as she turned her back on them, methodically shucking her outer garments and toeing off her shoes. The studio still felt a little drafty; she huddled closer to the heater and kept her back to Clint and Daken as she shed her heavy sweater and lightweight thermal top.

“This isn’t going to be hung up somewhere public, is it?”

“Nah. Just my portfolio. I had it in mind to do a few shots where I crop the close-ups, though, for different negative space studies. Some of these won’t even have your ugly mug, Barton.”

“Your loss,” Clint teased. “As long as they have my junk, then, that’s fine.”

“You want your junk hanging in the corridor of the fine arts building?” Nat pressed.

“His junk won’t be hanging anywhere,” Daken promised.

“Awwwwwwww!”

“The world’s just not ready for it, Clint. And we’re not worthy.”

“Awwww,” Clint repeated, this time with more warmth in his tone. Daken snorted, but he was grinning as he unpacked his camera and fiddled with the lens. He continued to set up his equipment, and Natasha mentally coached herself to calm down as she dropped the last of her clothing onto the hardwood floor. She felt the pit of her stomach knot up as she turned around, trying and failing not to look at Clint.

_All of Clint._

It was hard to remain detached. He loomed over her. Tall. Winter-pale, skin dusted with freckles and a few old scars. She recognized the one on his belly from when he had his appendix removed. Sandy hair slicked over his long, rangy limbs, and her eyes jerked to his face before they could drift where they didn’t belong. 

“I never realized how short you were until you took your shoes off and stood next to _this_ guy. You’re like Tinkerbell.” Daken huffed. “Cute. Anyway. Okay. This is gonna be sweet. Come over this way. Wait. No. This way.” He guided Clint by the arm, ignoring his roommate’s discomfiture with being manhandled while he was in the altogether. Clint shot Nat a helpless look, which she returned with an indifferent shrug. Even though her heart was pounding.

All of his childhood gangliness was gone, replaced with elegant, streamlined muscle. Clint stood with his characteristic slouch, until Natasha joined him on the low dais. He straightened up and shifted his weight back and forth on his feet, unsure of whether to get too close. 

“I feel like… fuck. I dunno. Like I should be standing in front of you, for some reason. God, this is weird…”

“That’s almost chivalrous. I get it. I do. This just is what it is, buddy.”

Clint huffed a laugh. His ears were turning red, despite Nat’s efforts to get him to relax. Natasha briefly elbowed him, hoping he would loosen up. The contact was brief, teasing, and typical of what she knew.

“It’s fine. Go with it.”

“At least we don’t have to-”

“Okay, move behind her,” Daken ordered. “Wrap your arms around her waist.”

“Oh, shit. Never mind. We do,” Clint muttered. “Around, uh…”

“Just her waist. Nat, tip your head back against his shoulder. Bend your knee a little.”

“Are we talking used bookstore Harlequin novel cover?” she inquired.

“Just for the first couple of shots.”

Nat bit her lip, but she fought the urge to stiffen when Clint’s arms gently slid around her waist. She gently tipped her head back against his shoulder, and her hands drifted down to his forearms, to his wrists. There was another scar, from a cooking incident involving frozen French fries and dropping them into the hot grease with too much force. She traced it delicately, and she felt him shiver in response.

“What?”

“Little scar. Forgot you had it.”

“Okay.” His voice was amused but still unsteady, and Nat decided to take it easy on him. 

“If you take pictures of Clint’s junk, Aki, make sure you Photoshop little mustaches and hats onto it.”

“That’s the plan.”

She felt Clint’s body shake with laughter. “I hate you.”

“Do not.”

“Totally do.”

Clint tickled her, poking her in the side, and Nat swatted him. “Jerk,” she hissed.

“You started it.”

They both stiffened when they heard the camera click and felt the flash.

“Shit…”

“I really wasn’t ready.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m taking whatever I can get out of you two. It was a moment, and it worked.”

“That’s not fair,” Nat argued. “Warn us next time.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Just be natural. Actually, let’s play around a little with this. I want you to mirror her, buddy. I like the contrast between you two.” Daken hopped up from where he’d been kneeling to show them something on his phone screen. “I like some of these poses. Think you two can mimic them a little?”

“Why not?” Clint offered.

“No Harlequin covers?”

“We might revisit that.”

But they spent the next twenty minutes just… mirroring each other. Some shots were face to face, which was just strange. It was hard for Nat to keep her expressions neutral, especially when Clint kept winking at her and occasionally giving her lewd looks, and it was impossible not to look at _all of Clint_ and let her eyes just _drift_.

To his credit, Clint stayed focused. The room was still a little too cool. Natasha noticed the goosebumps that raised themselves on her own flesh, and on his, despite Clint’s claim that he was fine. Daken cranked the heater a notch and the camera kept humming and clicking. He adjusted light meters and moved around the studio, capturing the shots he wanted.

“I want you behind her again. Look at me from over her shoulder. Cover her eyes with your hands.” That automatically made Natasha smirk, and she heard the camera click. “That was cute.”

“I need a hand shot. A good hand study will round out my portfolio. Just lace your fingers together. Nice. Those make good reference photos. Can’t always find good ones.”

Clint’s fingers were calloused; he’d been out shooting again. Nat wondered when he found the time, since the weather was seldom clear enough for it, lately. 

“We need to trim your nails,” she murmured.

“I’ll get to it.”

“That looks like it hurt.” She traced the edge of a hangnail that looked like he’d ripped it off.

“It’s not that-”

Natasha leaned down and kissed it, humming in sympathy.

“-bad.”

Clint felt his dick twitch in response, but he willed it to settle down. _Holy fuck._ It was just a minute brush of her lips - soft, full and a deep, rich rose - but it made his insides twist.

“Do that again.” Daken raised his camera again. “I need that shot.”

Nat glanced up at Clint through her lashes and gave his finger another kiss, Chaste, Teasing. Clint’s hand trembled as he pulled it away.

“Don’t, Go with it. Let her. Let her play with it for a minute-”

“Jesus! Dude. C’mon.”

“Work with me, pal.”

“It’s not your finger that she’s…” Clint’s voice trailed off as Nat tilted her head down and engulfed the tip of his finger, up to the first knuckle.

His dick jumped, and Clint felt his nipples ruche, completely betraying him.

“I thought this was artsy, I feel like this is gonna end up at that old movie rental place down the road that sells the vape supplies and books on tape.”

But despite that, Clint’s thumb stroked the corner of Nat’s mouth fleetingly. _Fuck._ Warm. Invitingly soft. Every _inch_ of Nat was soft and tempting, and it put him off, making him feel like his body was betraying him. 

This was Natasha. His best friend since kindergarten.

And at the moment, she was teasing him, literally paying him lip service, and it was driving him _nuts._ She pulled off his finger and nibbled the tip, then engulfed him again, sliding down to the second knuckle.

Clint groaned, shuddering, and he pulled his hand free. “I can’t… focus when you do that.”

She was immediately contrite. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s try another Harlequin cover,” Daken said dryly. “Let’s try a few.”

And they did, for a while. And a few where Nat and Clint took turns being “the big spoon.” What struck Nat was how unsexy some of the shots felt, like when Clint was on all fours, and she was sprawled and arched across his back. Or the one where she was riding on it, rather comically, telling him “Giddyup” under her breath.

Straddling him when he was doing a pushup. It didn’t hurt her ego at all when she heard him grunt with emphasis at taking her weight. 

More hand studies. A nice leg study. A long shot of Nat’s back, with Clint’s fingers tangled in her hair as he swept it off her neck. 

A study of Clint’s mouth this time, barely grazing the curve of her neck. Nat tried not to squirm every time he leaned in, breath steaming her sensitive flesh. Daken tried several different poses and angles. “Your neck’s perfect,” he remarked. “I love that tiny mole.”

“She’s always had it,” Clint told him as he stared at it.

“I’ve always hated it.”

“Don’t. Don’t, Nat. It’s… it’s yours. It’s nice.”

“Twist her hair back.”

“Sure.”

“I tell you I hate it, and now you want more pictures of it?”

“Why not? If he gets to take pictures of my old appy scar, then he gets to take some of your mole, and it’s cute, so quit bitching about it.”

Nat rolled her eyes, but warmth fluttered in her gut.

They had to work Clint’s old, tattered tee shirt between them for a straddling shot Daken wanted for the sake of discretion. Nat smirked down at Clint while she pinned his wrists up above his head.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

She shrugged, and the corner of her mouth tugged itself up another notch. Clint felt his bits twitching beneath her and sighed. _Jesus_ This day would never end, and they’d only been there forty minutes. Nat’s breasts were slack and shook a little with her faint laughter. Their deep pink tips were stiff from the still-drafty studio. Clint longed to take one between his teeth. 

“Arch your back a little,” Daken ordered.

“Me?”

“Eh. Nah. Clint.”

“Arch mine a little?” Clint’s brow furrowed. “This is getting kinky…”

“It’s working,” Daken corrected him. 

The movement expanded Clint’s chest and made his abs go taut. Natasha bit back the urge to run her hands over him.

Until Daken told her, “Run your hands over him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You’re just fine with it, like…” Clint grew silent as Nat’s fingertips swept down the length of his arms, releasing his wrists, but he kept them where they were, raised above his head.

“Like this?” Nat asked softly.

“Yeah,” Daken agreed. “Nothing kinky. Just let me see your hands. Spread your fingers a little.”

Her hands were warm, finally, and they just started sweeping over his skin. Tracing the cords of muscle in his neck. Collarbones. All of the points of connection between his muscles. Down over his pecs and back. Counting his ribs. His freckles. Nat adjusted herself a little, tilting her hips.

“Sorry. My leg’s getting a charlie horse.”

“S’okay.”

Despite his best efforts, Clint popped a squirming, twitching boner beneath her, despite the shirt that was a barrier between them. 

“Lace your fingers together again. I want to shoot it from this angle,” Daken suggested.

“Fine,” Clint agreed.

The resulting change in angle brought those breasts closer to his face, and Clint was _so fucked_. Nat’s expression was bland, but he was a twinkle in her eye. 

_She was laughing at him_. Well, shit.

The camera clicked and shuttered and clicked again. Daken adjusted the light to get deeper shadows. “You two are so much fun to work with.”

“This is still never gonna happen again,” Clint threatened. Daken only laughed.

“I’ll pay you in beer. And coffee.”

“Pizza,” Natasha corrected him.

Daken found a tall, three-legged stool. More poses followed that made it impossible for Clint to focus, Nat’s skin smelled faintly of her body spray and felt like warm silk. 

“Give his shoulder a little bite.”

“Please don’t leave a mark.”

“Wuss.”

Clint shivered at the sensation of her warm breath misting over his skin, even as he pretended to swat her away. But eventually, he just ran with it. Frame after frame. Watching Nat give him those looks, swimming in her green eyes.

Daken turned off the lamps. “Okay. Get dressed.”

“We’re done?” Clint asked breathlessly.

“I don’t have to look at this guy’s pasty ass anymore?” Nat teased, even though she felt a little bereft as she moved away from him.

“And I don’t have to smell her BO?”

“Not unless you want to. I mean, I can always walk outside? But, yeah. In a few minutes, you’ll be neck-deep in soccer moms?” Daken grinned at the two of them. 

“Nah.”

“I’m good.”

And just like that, they were bundled up against the cold once more, packed into Nat’s tiny car, and heading back to the dorms. 

“I have to study for my econ final,” she told him.

“I’m ready for a nap.” He yawned for emphasis, and his features had that drowsy, heavy look informing Nat that she’d kept him up and out too long.

Her phone remained silent for the rest of the day. No texts. No calls. Natasha’s mind wandered, drifting back to Clint every few minutes and how he felt beneath her wandering hands.


	6. Keeping Up Appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Clint does Natasha a solid. More than once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Laura mentioned in this chapter is Laura Kinney, Daken's sister in canon. And for the record, Logan isn't either of their dads in this story, even though he appears in it briefly in previous chapters.
> 
> The slow burn is going to keep smoldering a little as I figure out what the heck to do to finish this. Thank you for reading it, if you bothered. :)

Critical Thinking and Rhetoric. Because still being undeclared wasn’t exciting enough without registering for classes that Clint would never use, which also required textbooks that cost as much as a week’s worth of groceries. It was the only section that was open and that met in the afternoon, and Natasha agreed to take it with him to get it out of the way.

“Don’t just assume that I’m taking notes for you whenever you don’t show up. You’d _better_ show up.”

“Pfffffttt… what? I show up. Quit yer naggin’, Nat.”

“What time did you go to bed last night?”

“Last night?” Clint’s yawn was leonine, making a joint in his jaw crack. “More like this morning. Daken talked me into going to his friend’s place and playing Apex Legends until two AM. Then I remembered I had my lit paper due.”

“Seriously, Clint?!” Natasha swatted him, but he shrugged and took a swig of his Starbucks bottled mocha.

“Paper’s done. I can nap during poli sci.”

“No, you can’t! That’s Professor Silvercloud’s class. He gets anal about it when you’re unprepared.”

“I’m prepared to sleep during his slides. It’s not like I’m not gonna read the actual chapter, anyway. His slides are just copied and pasted straight from the PDF.”

“Please don’t flunk out, Clint. I’m begging you.”

Clint huffed and stole a few of Natasha’s grapes from her snack bag that peeked out from the top of her backpack. The student union cafe was packed, and Nat and Clint snagged their favorite table by the window. “M’not gonna flunk out. Everything’s fine.” He watched Nat scribble in her day planner. Every day of the calendar was cluttered with notes. “What made you think it was a good idea to take sixteen credits this semester?”

“Um. So I don’t end up taking five or more years to finish my degree?”

“So, a degree only counts if you finish it on time? Nat. Calm the fuck down. I’m planning to milk this as long as they give me financial aid.”

“You still haven’t picked a major.”

“So? Lang already changed his major, and if he hates it, he might change it again next semester.”

Nat huffed.

“And you tell me I need to get to bed on time. _You_ look like you need a nap, too.”

“I had to read fifty pages of _Paradise Lost._ I’m so ready to throw this book into the shredder.”

“Can’t. Gotta sell it back for one tenth the original price three months from now.”

Nat growled and took a deep gulp of her now-lukewarm green tea. “It’s such a racket. My Intro to Psych professor let us use the online textbook last semester, and it was free. The whole point of going to college is to get a decent job so you’ll earn money, but you have to practically sell your own organs to afford the tuition and books, first.”

“News flash: You can get the degree and _still_ end up with a crappy job,” Clint reminded her dryly as he scratched his nose around the edge of the band-aid stuck to its bridge. Ultimate Frisbee, this time, “I might end up being one of those guys with a PhD bagging groceries at Safeway or frothing the milk at Starbucks.”

“Don’t tell me that after I just read that much Milton, Clint. You’re killing my soul, here. That’s not very nice.”

They finished their drinks and chuckled the containers into the recycle cans at the edge of the exit. Nat stepped onto the escalator first, but her eyes widened in alarm as she spied a familiar figure getting on at the landing below them.

“Shit. Clint. Okay. I need you to act like you like me.”

“Wait, like I ‘like you’ like you?”

“Yes!” Natasha hissed. She turned around and implored him with a look gripping the neckline of his hoodie. “Do me this favor.”

“What fav-”

Nat leaned up and pushed herself into his space, and Clint felt her small, slim fingers curl around his nape as she kissed him so abruptly that their teeth almost knocked together. He jerked and gripped her to steady himself, an unnerving feeling as the escalator continued to move. Clint’s hand drifted down to the small of her back. He could smell her shampoo and taste the faintly earthy green tea on her breath. Euphoria curled in his stomach and gave him pleasant little tingles. He opened his eyes and saw the end of the escalator ride coming up sharply.

“Mmph. Mm. Nat. NAT!”

“Hmnh?”

“Floor!” he muttered around her lips, and he snatched her against him and hauled them both over the edge of the last stair as it sank into the floor, pitching them forward. Nat sputtered as they stumbled onto their feet, catching each other for balance. She snickered and craned her neck around to glance up at the upper level. Then she smirked.

“Good. He got an eyeful.”

“Who?” Clint’s brows furrowed.

“Just this guy. Not one of my better decisions. It was kind of a hookup for hookup’s sake.”

Clint’s jaw dropped. “Wait… what the - NATTY! Are you serious right now?”

“Well, you offered. Remember? Tony’s party?” She gave him a pointed look as she straightened the strap of her backpack, shifting it further up onto her shoulder. “I did you a little favor. Now you just returned it.”

“Oh, you mean… oh. _Oh._ ” Clint gave her a slow, sweeping nod. “Got it. That was… i get it, now.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s… wait. Wait a minute. You said you hooked up? When?” His voice sounded funny. Slightly cracked, and filled with surprise and maybe a hint of resentment that she never told him before.

She winced. “Right before spring break? There was this guy who invited me over to his dorm for a lit study session. I might’ve stayed longer than I planned. And… yeah.”

She looked sheepish as they left the student union building. Nat felt her cheeks flushing hotly under Clint’s scrutiny.

“So. You and this guy. Just… I mean, did you like him?” The word was charged with pertinent energy.

“I thought I did. It was just… it was dumb. I don’t know.”

And it was. Random. Not one of her better ideas. He thought he was smooth when he suggested she could just sit on his bed rather than at his roommate’s desk, so she wouldn’t disturb his things or mess up his space. They got through maybe three pages worth of notes before he made his move. The kiss, as far as first kisses went, was all right. He had condoms but was dodgy in the face of her insistence that he actually use one, and Natasha mentally drew a few marks in the “cons” column as they fumbled in the dark. 

Awkward. Uneven. Painful. Nat never expected birds to sing for her first time, but the experience on the whole just… chafed. She picked a place to stare at on the ceiling and focused on it as he moved within her, focusing on her breathing just to get through it. He was drowsy, handsy and thankful as he rolled over and disposed of the spent condom. Natasha rested against him for a minute and went to ask him where the women’s bathroom was on his wing.

He snored softly in response. Natasha gently pried herself loose and began to collect her clothes. That answered the question of whether he planned to escort her back to her own residence hall.

Losing her virginity felt hollow. Like she’d checked a box. But it was nothing to write home about. (Literally, figuratively; however you looked at it, she never wanted to tell anyone about this.)

Telling Clint… well. 

How could she _not?_

“He texted me this week,” she admitted. “I’m just not feeling it.”

“Nah?”

“Nah.”

Clint huffed, then smirked. He knocked his shoulder into hers.

“Give me more warning next time. Or do it when we’re not about to fall off the escalator.”

“Hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“God, Natasha. All you do is make me do you _favors_ all the time, sheesh!”

She snorted, shoving him, and Clint stuck out his tongue.

They headed back to Clint’s dorm, and Clint made a face at the sound of Daken’s music blasting from their room. But he managed a smile for his guest, Laura, who automatically hopped up from Clint’s bed and tackle-hugged him around the waist.

“Hey, squirt. Is recess over? Don’t you have a Girl Scouts meeting to go to?”

“Jerk,” she hissed, but he returned her hug and ruffled her long brown hair. Laura was short like her older brother, built a lot like Nat, and she lacked her brother’s tattoos, but they looked just enough alike to be family. “Hey. You have to come to my field hockey game on Friday.”

“What if I’m busy that day?”

“We both know you’re not,” she challenged.

“She knows you have no life,” Daken told him, shrugging.

“Quit telling her that, bro! She looks up to me!”

“I don’t even look up to _him_ ,” she argued, nodding to her brother. Daken flipped her the bird, making her wave both middle fingers under his nose and stick out her tongue. Daken gave Nat a long-suffering look.

“See what I have to put up with? My mom asked me when I was a little kid if I couldn’t wait to have a younger sister. I wanted a Samoyed.”

“Those are nice dogs,” she agreed.

“You have to come to my game, too,” Laura told Nat.

“I actually do have plans,” Nat told her. “Sorry. I’m going to a play that I have to write a review of as part of my drama class.”

“That stinks.”

“Yeah. Kinda does.”

Then Laura gave them a mischievous look. “I saw you two guys naked.”

“You’re not supposed to spill the beans,” Daken said. “She’s talking shit. She saw the crops that I matted and turned in for my project.”

“Nuh-uh. I saw the shots on your computer, too,” she bragged. Clint blushed and hunched over.

“What were you doing on my computer, you little punk?!”

“Looking at all the stuff you aren’t supposed to have on there. I’m telling Ma.”

“If you’re looking at naked pictures, why are you going to tell on yourself?”

“Oh, my God, please just erase it from your mind!” Natasha begged. “You didn’t see _anything_.”

“Oh, yes I did! HEY! OW!” Daken got his sister in a headlock, and she punched him in the ribs.

“Quit being rude to my friends. They did me a favor. They didn’t have to. Say you’re sorry,” he hissed. “You weren’t supposed to be snooping around in my shit.”

“I can snoop around in it if I want!”

“Laura,” he snapped. “Apologize.”

“Sorry,” she grumbled as she shoved him off.

“Okay. Moving along,” Clint announced. “Erase those images of us from your young brain, kiddo. This didn’t happen. We didn’t have this talk.” He ruffled her hair, earning himself a disgusted smirk.

“I don’t want your cooties!” she whined.

“Nobody wants Clint’s cooties,” Nat agreed. “I guess I’ll get going, if you’re-”

“No. Wait. We came here. I didn’t mean for us to come here.”

“No?” Nat quirked a brow at the confusion in his voice and expression.

“No. I got distracted. I mean. I was just gonna ask if… you wanted to hang out.” Clint rubbed his nape and gave her a disarming smile.

“I thought we just did.”

“That was to study. I was gonna do laundry.”

Nat gave him an accusing look. “And you wanted me to go along with you so you don’t get bored, fall asleep, and have somebody unload your wash and take your machine before your stuff gets dried.”

“Maybe.”

“I see right through you, buddy.”

“And?”

“I’ll go bundle up my stuff. I just got detergent at Costco,” she sighed.

“Yesssss!” Clint pumped his fist. “Now I don’t have to buy any!”

“And the truth just came out…”

“Meet me at your car in ten?”

“That works.” Nat hadn’t been planning to do laundry that day, but why not get it over with? And it wasn’t the worst thing, getting it done with Clint. She wouldn’t be as bored with him to goof off with, would she?

America and Kate were canoodling on America’s bed, and they looked up slightly annoyed at being interrupted when Nat walked in.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll leave you to your sucking face as soon as I grab my laundry and beat feet.”

“Great! You can do mine, too!”

“Hell, no.”

“I had to at least try.”

“It’s bad enough that Clint just wants me to tag along so he can use my soap.”

“That’s the only reason why, huh?”

“What?”

“What?” America repeated.

“Nothing,” Kate added. “Don’t mind her. Go. Have fun with that laundry.”

“And Clint,” America added smugly.

“God, you two are weird,” Nat muttered as she transferred her clothing from the hamper into her drawstring bag. She grabbed the detergent and her purse and hurried downstairs, not wanting to leave Clint waiting too long. When she reached the car, Clint automatically took her laundry bag and loaded it into the trunk with his. She let him in the passenger side, and he automatically leaned over to unlock her side.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks for taking us.”

“I hate laundry, but we might as well get it over with.”

Clint kept sneaking looks at her. Nat’s hair had grown out, brushing past her shoulders. Her black and white raglan tee provided a sharp backdrop for it, and it was just tight enough to hug her curves. Her ripped up jeans were the kind of thing she never wore when she went back home because she hated hearing her parents complain about them. They were Clint’s favorite thing that she owned. 

“So, you guys hooked up, huh?” he blurted out.

It wasn’t his best conversation opener, but the revelation lingered. Nagged him.

Nat looked embarrassed. “Yeah. Well. Yeah.”

She craned her neck around to face him. “What? Are you judging me?”

“What? No! No, Natty! I’m not. I swear!”

“It wasn’t something I was planning on to happen, it just happened!”

“I know that!”

“Well, why are you asking?”

“You didn’t tell me until now!” Clint snapped.

Natasha’s face went on a journey. “I didn’t… Barton. Seriously?” Her voice rose a notch. “I just didn’t get around to it! And besides, it isn’t like you were just dying to know that I hopped into the sack with some random guy!”

“I wasn’t dying to know that! Shit, Nat. It’s… I’m just surprised. Like you said, it was just ‘some random guy.’” He made air quotes around the words. “You don’t do that. You don’t just do random guys. That’s not you. You’re not…”

“What? A slut?”

“No! Nat. Natasha. That’s not what I mean, and you take that back. Don’t you put those nasty words in my mouth, because I would never fucking say that. I _hate_ that word, Natty. You know I hate it.”

Nat’s lips tightened as she turned her attention back to the road, nearly missing a green turn light.

“I just figured that when you decided to go for it, it’d be a big deal. You never just… y’know.”

“Never just what? It’s not like I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve been to second base.” She paused. “And maybe to third, a little.”

Clint automatically reached up and turned off his hearing aids, giving her a pointed look as he did it. 

“Oh, no you don’t!”

“Lalalalalalala,” he sang. “I _literally_ can’t hear you.”

“Wuss,” she muttered.

Then she reached for the radio and turned it to the top forty station she knew he despised. He shrugged, until she started singing - caterwauling - along to Imagine Dragons. He still had about forty percent of his hearing in his left ear, and she was abusing it with intentional pitchiness and uneven runs that made him cringe and shrink down in his seat. 

“Tell me you’re fine with me doing the do. Tell me it’s no big deal,” she insisted, poking him to make him look at her. “Tell me, Clint. Read my lips and repeat after me-”

“Watch the road, Nat!”

“Tell me. Repeat after me. ‘It’s no big deal that my best friend Natasha boinked some random guy just for the hell of it.’”

“Who says ‘boink’ anymore?!”

They finally reached the laundromat and Nat careened sharply into the last available space in the back row of the lot. Clint grunted as she jerked them to a stop. “Geez, Nat!”

She gave him a look, mulish and unsatisfied, and she folded her arms, waiting.

“It’s fine. Do what you want with your sex life. I don’t have to know-”

“But you asked, and you act like you’re not really fine with it.”

Clint’s jaw did a thing. 

Her tone softened. “Can you just be fine with it?”

“If you promise we don’t hafta talk about it anymore?”

Why did she detect a little hurt in his tone.

“Fine,” she muttered as she turned away from him and unbuckled her seatbelt.

“What?”

“Fine,” she repeated, staring into his eyes this time before slamming her way out of the driver’s seat and hurrying to the trunk. He beat her to it once she popped the latch, swatting away her reach as he took out both of their laundry bags and the detergent and carried them inside.

They were both stiff and uncomfortable as they found two large capacity washers and loaded them. Clint managed to cram all of his clothes into it, at least a week and a half’s worth of fragrant things that earned him a look of disgust from the woman who sat across from them, reading a battered issue of _People_ and hiding a tiny dog in her tote bag. Nat kept out her towels and her heavy items like sweat pants and jeans, throwing those into a smaller washer despite Clint’s sullen claim that “You’re just wasting money doing that.”

“It’ll take forever to dry them as one load,” she argued back.

“Not as much as it’ll waste washing it in two loads! I bet you could get that whole thing dry with one quarter!”

“You’d lose. And I thought you weren’t going to listen to me today?”

Clint stuck out his tongue at her and turned his aids off again, just for spite.

 _Baby_ , she signed at him.

Clint returned a very rude gesture that made the woman across the way snort.

Nat fiddled with her phone, browsing a book she’d already finished on her Kindle app. Clint watched YouTube videos of people performing stunts and taking spectacular falls. They ignored each other for a while, despite his earlier request to just hang out. Fifteen minutes in, he grew bored.

“What do you think Gonzo is?”

“Huh?”

“Gonzo. From the Muppets. Is he supposed to be a bird?”

“I don’t know. He looks a little like a dodo.”

“Right? I mean, he’s always trying to get it on with the chickens.”

That earned him a snort and a shake of her head. Natasha wrinkled her nose in that little way that Clint loved but would never admit.

“Everybody always wants to know what Goofy is,” Clint pointed out. “Why doesn’t anybody ever wonder about Gonzo?”

“Just figured he was a bird of some kind.”

“Except he doesn’t have feathers. He has fur.”

“Eh. He’s a Muppet. Most of them are furry.”

“Are you calling the Muppets furries?”

“No! Just furry! God, don’t be gross…”

“Gotta admit. I’ve got a point.”

“I don’t know you. Don’t sit next to me, people might think I’m with you.”

“Why? Are you afraid I might embarrass ya?” Clint had that gleam in his eye, and Natasha gave him a warning look. But then he thought better of it, sobering up as he glanced over her shoulder, noticing someone through the laundromat’s front glass panes. 

“Chill out for a sec, Natty. I’m about to do you another favor,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Mr. Random Guy just showed up. Don’t look over there.”

“Well, of course I want to now,” Natasha admitted, but she set down her purse and pretended to rummage in it for her earbuds. Clint stretched out his long legs in an easy sprawl and reached over, tugging her chair closer to him while she was sitting on it. “Uh. Okay…”

“Just go with it.”

“Go with what?” Then, “Oh.”

Clint waited for her to straighten up and face him, then looped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into a kiss that she knew he meant to look natural, but ended up being gratuitous. Blatant.

 _Greedy_. 

God, they were giving the cranky lady across the way a show, but Natasha didn’t care. Clint tasted like cherry Starburst, and Natasha hummed her approval as they exchanged breath and heat. His stubble felt raspy beneath her palm, and his skin was hot. Natasha felt her blood rushing in her ears and her heart pounding its way out of her chest. _Fuck,_ he was good at this. They wallowed in the kiss, lingering over it, and Natasha gently sucked on his lower lip and then opened for him. His tongue slowly greeted hers with teasing, velvety strokes, and she felt his arm tighten around her shoulders. Her palm slid down the side of his neck, down to his chest, and she felt his heart’s rapid, stuttering pace.

_Holy shit._

It took a while for it to hit her that she heard the front door ding twice, once as he entered, and then again moments later as he walked back out. The slam of the car door in the parking lot jerked her back to reality. Clint slowly let her back up for air witih one last, teasing peck.

“He bailed,” he muttered. “Nat. It’s fine. He’s gone.”

“Huh?”

“He took off.” 

Her eyes snapped open, and she saw her hookup in profile for a moment as he drove out of the lot. Relief washed over her, but suddenly she saw Clint staring down at her. She stared into his dilated blue eyes, then down at his rosy mouth, slightly puffy from their kiss. 

Clint looked very, very pleased with himself.

“You don’t have to do that every time we run into him. I mean, you _could_ , but… it might have to become a thing,” she warned.

“It ain’t the worst thing you’ve ever asked me to do,” he offered, shrugging.

“Not as bad as the time you let me give you an undercut?”

“Not anywhere near that bad, Natty.”

“Okay. Good.”

They stayed in each other’s space for the rest of the wash cycle and again once they loaded the dryers, chatting and joking about random shit, arguing about which _Star Wars_ film was the worst in the franchise, and splitting a bag of Skittles from the vending machine. 

The memory of the kiss nagged at them. They dragged out the process of folding and packing up their clean clothes, despite Clint’s usual claim that it always took forever, and what was the point if he never usually folded his clothes at home?


	7. Be Your Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I lost my keys. I think America is passed out.”
> 
> Nat stood there in the doorway, soaked to her skin, her hair clinging to her cheeks in dark chestnut tendrils. Clint’s breath caught. “Can I come in for a while?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure. They’re only doing each other favors. Right?
> 
> ...riiiiiight.

Clint startled awake and groaned at the faint crick in his neck. A glance at the soft beams of dark gold filtering through the mini-blind slats told him it was almost twilight, and he wondered for a moment what woke him, and what was that annoying dinging…

“Shit,” he muttered. Somebody was calling him, the thought just barely broke the surface of mental post-nap fog where he wondered where he was and what day it was.

“Shit,” he muttered again. His dorm room felt like it was facing the wrong direction. No. _He_ was. His eyes dragged their way to the left, and he saw a Sailor Moon poster taped to the wall and a hook randomly strewn with what looked like strands of Mardi Gras beads with the previous year’s grad date on it from his high school. Clint slowly rolled up and muttered, “Oh, fuck, Kitty…” when he saw the fuzzy fleece Hello Kitty blanket he was swaddled in.

Okay. This was Nat’s room. Okay. The foggy, muzzy details floated back to him, and he coughed all raspy and wet. He was sick. The student health center pharmacy bags laid crumpled up on the tiny stack of drawers across the room. His skin felt clammy and sticky; he was only clad in his flannel pajama bottoms and a soft, faded Rick and Morty tee. He still smelled the hint of menthol from where Nat slathered him generously with Vicks.

Clint coughed again, feeling thick goop in his throat trying to dislodge itself as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His phone stopped ringing already, but he saw the missed call from Nat glowing on the tiny screen. It felt good to peel away the blankets and let the cool air flow over his skin, a huge change from a few hours ago. It hit him that he’d been there all day long.

Clint retraced his steps as he retrieved his phone and keyed in the passcode. Breakfast. He’d barely eaten anything because his throat was sore and raspy as soon as he woke up. He’d gone to bed with the sniffles the night before, and by the end of his jogging class - why had he signed up for a morning PE class, what the fuck was _wrong_ with him? - he was a gasping, coughing, sweaty mess. Daken noticed that he was off his game and wasn’t sympathetic about it. Well, not much, anyway.

_Earlier_ :

“You look gray, dude. You gonna turn into a walker and bite me?”

“Nah. You’d taste terrible,” Clint snarked back, but he made an aggrieved noise and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Ugh…”

Daken pulled a face. “Whatever it is, just don’t give it to me.”

“I don’t know what this is. I was fine yesterday.”

“Probably shouldn’t have gone with me to Quentin’s.” They’d made the trek late last night to Daken’s friend, a senior across town living in a fourplex in a sketchy neighborhood, braving the late autumn chill. Admittedly, Clint didn’t bundle up well enough for the walk there. The apartment was tiny, cramped, and packed. Quentin and his roommates set up a game of quarters on one side of the room, and beer pong on the other. Clint drank too much, sweated too much, and spent too much time in close quarters with too little circulating air. When they slogged their way back home, again, on foot, they were staggering in the cold. Clint’s jacket was open to fan some air on his damp, overheated skin and hair. It was chilly enough to see his breath.

Now, well, here he was. Feeling like death warmed over and not ready for any beauty contests. 

Nat took one look at him when she showed up for their planned Costco trip and scowled. “Clint. Hey. Are we not going to the store?”

Clint made pitiful moose noises from under his blanket.

“Are you sick?”

“No,” he lied. “I just feel like crap.”

“That means you’re sick, goofy butt.”

“Hey! My butt’s not goofy,” he argued.

“Yes, it is,” Daken interjected, smirking from his desk as he stirred a cup of ramen noodles. 

“Fuck you,” Clint growled.

“Your throat sounds pretty gross,” Nat told him, but she gentled her words with a cool, soft hand on his forehead, and Clint leaned into the caress out of habit. “You feel hot, too.”

“No’m not. I’m freezing.”

“Okay. That’s a fever. Screw this. I’m taking you to the health center. You might need an antibiotic.”

Clint whined, but she wrestled him upright.

“C’mon. Come _on_ , Barton. I’m going to get you ready. You’ll thank me.”

“Nat, c’mon. M’cold.”

“We’ll bundle you up. God, Clint, I’m sorry.” A little stitch of worry appeared between her brows and her lips were tight. Nat quickly bundled him into his jacket and jerked a beanie onto his head, gently smoothing back his hair before she did. “You’re way too hot right now.”

“That’s what all the girls tell me,” Clint quipped.

“Oh, good Lord…”

“Nothing sexier than phlegm. Guy’s been coughing up a lung.”

“You could have taken him. Next time, get him some soup. There’s soup in your future, Barton.”

“I’ve gotta go to my typography class.” Daken took his noodle cup and backpack and saluted Nat. “I’m gonna be gone for the rest of the day. I won’t be around to bug you guys.”

Nat sighed. That also meant he wouldn’t be around to help out.

She sat with him in the crowded lobby at the health center until they called phis name and walked him back. The checkup lasted about fifteen minutes; the wait in line for his meds lasted about a half an hour. 

“Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt? Why do I feel like shit?”

“”Life’s rough, buddy. Okay. You’re going back to bed.”

But when they reached the men’s wing, Nat heard music blaring from Clint’s neighbor’s room.

“Okay. That’s not gonna work.”

“Natty, I just wanna get back in bed!”

“You don’t have to get back into _yours_. Come on, Barton. Come with me.” She led him toward the women’s wing.

“I hardly ever come over here.”

“You should. It doesn’t smell like feet.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Natasha keyed her way in and nudged him inside, leading him to her bed. “Here. Climb under the covers. America said she’s going to be at her lab for a couple of hours, and she won’t bother you if you’re resting. I’ll drop her a text and let her know you’re here so she doesn’t freak out.”

“It’s so girly in here,” he mock-complained. “Oh, my God, feminine hygiene products!”

“Shut up,” she sang. Natasha manhandled him back out of his jacket and hat, and he sank down onto the bed, kicking off his shoes.

“Socks on or off?”

“Off.” She knelt down and peeled off his socks, giving his big toe a gentle tweak. Clint was slumped and lax, easy to further manhandle into bed and tuck in.

“Gonna tell me a bedtime story next?”

“Not yet. I’m gonna get you your meds. Take them now, so you can start to feel better.” Nat tore open the staple on the small white bag and started opening boxes, bottles and blister packs, assembling the generic antibiotics, decongestants and ibuprofen.

“M’still cold.”

“Don’t overbundle. You have a fever.” Natasha unscrewed a bottle of apple juice and made him sit up to take the pills. He took a generous swig of juice after each capsule and tablet, making low “Ugh” sounds inbetween and grimacing. 

Their second year away at school was no less of a grind than the first. Nat and Clint decided that their best bet was to stick with the same dorm building instead of trying to find an apartment. (“There aren’t four other guys I feel like trying to share rent and a bathroom with, so. Why ruin a good thing?” Clint had pressed.) Despite the drawbacks like the questionable shared bathroom and the noise, there were worse places to be. Natasha liked that at any given time, if she was lonely, all she had to do was duck her head out into the hallway and find at least three people to go to the library or out to coffee with. Movie nights in the common room weren’t bad, either. Clint was right where she could find him, in easy shouting distance. That funny little urge to protect him, or at least look out for him, never quite died. It was second nature to fall into step beside him or merely turn and glance over her shoulder and find him smiling back, that quiet, crooked little smile that he saved just for her.

She missed that smile right now, though. Especially when he was looking clammy, tired, and green around the gills. His eyes were puffy and a little sunken, and Nat smoothed down the funny cowlick in his hair. Clint sighed and his eyes drooped shut, but Nat warned him. “Come on. Don’t fall asleep yet. Sit up a little and drink some more juice, Barton.”

“You’re mean.”

“Am not. You’re just sick. You can usually put up with me just fine when you aren’t. I’m your favorite person, damn it.”

“Somebody sounds pretty confident in what they mean to me,” he muttered, but he leaned up onto his elbow and drank half the juice.

“Don’t let yourself get all dried out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He collapsed back down into the pillows, and he attempted to yank the covers back up to his chin, but Nat stopped him. 

“Wait. Let me put some Vicks on you.”

“Ew! NO!”

“YES. You need the fumes. You’ll feel better.”

“Will not.”

“Will too. Come on, Clint. I’m going to have my way.”

They exchanged a look. “That would sound creepy coming from anyone else.”

“Let me at your neck.”

“Still creepy.”

Nat smirked. “You like it.” Clint raised his brows and made an uncertain noise in response to that claim.

She unscrewed the lid to the vapor rub and wrestled the covers away from him and managed to smear a thin layer on his throat and collarbones. “Let me get your chest.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Clint. Let. Me.”

Clint pouted, and he swatted at her hands in umbrage, but he finally let her reach down his neckband and smear on a little more, which was a struggle until she said “This is ridiculous. I’m lifting up your shirt. I promise it will only take a second.”

“I’m cold, Nat!”

“I know, baby. It will only take a minute.”

Clint huffed, and eventually he tugged up the hem of his shirt himself, exposing his pale torso to her scrutiny.

Nat’s eyes dilated at the sight of those hard abs and sculpted pecs, but she kept her face neutral. His chest felt hot to the touch as she smeared on a thin layer of the sticky rub and gently massaged it into his sternum. She felt him relax slightly beneath her caress, until he shuddered again from the chill in the room.

“Okay. We’re done. I promise. I’m sorry. I know you’re cold.”

“Cover me up, quick!” And Clint burrowed under the covers while Nat tucked him more snugly beneath him, turning him into a great, big burrito. “Better yet, c’mere. Lay with me.”

“What?”

“Lay on me. I need more heat. Just cover me with your whole body.”

“That’s a little… okay. That’s fine.” Clint gave her a mulish look.

“You don’t want to?”

“I don’t mind. As long as it’s not weird.”

“It’s not. I’m _cold_.”

Natasha shucked her quilted flannel jacket and shoes and gingerly climbed onto the bed beside him and stretched herself alongside him, until Clint took things into his own hands, and _her_ , more specifically. He wrangled Natasha closer and pulled her directly on top of him, until her body was plastered over his. She let out a tiny “Oof…!” and situated herself more comfortably. His stubbly chin brushed her forehead, and she felt him sigh deeply.

“Fuck, that’s better. The chills are going away, Natty. Just stay here for a while, okay?” His arms were locked around her, and he rubbed her arms and back as though she was the one with the fever. Nat felt herself relax, and she slid her arms around him loosely.

“I have to go do a couple of things soon, okay? You need to take a nap.”

“You still owe me a story.”

“Seriously, Barton?” Nat snickered, but Clint just shrugged.

“Hey. You promised. I don’t make the rules.”

“You just made up that one.”

“Enough arguing with me. Make with the story.”

“God, you’re a pain in the ass. Okay. There once was a boy named Clint who lived in the woods with his golden retriever, Lucky…”

“Ooh. I like this story.”

“Then let me tell it already.”

Nat slowly spun him a yarn about Clint and Lucky’s misadventure with a group of bandits that he ended up fighting off with his trick arrows, listening to Clint chuckling or muttering “Wait… what? That’s lame!” whenever she painted the protagonist in a less than flattering light. She just kept rambling on in a soft, scratchy voice, until she heard his breathing change and felt his arms go a little slack around her. Nat yawned herself, feeling tranquil and relaxed where she was, plastered against his warm bulk.

Natasha leaned up and glanced at him and noticed he felt asleep. His face was relaxed and still a little clammy, but he wasn’t shivering anymore. She carefully eased herself off of him, and his arms jerked for a moment, tightening around her again for a moment before they relaxed and fell limp. Natasha tucked him back in and made sure her Hello Kitty throw blanket was pulled all the way up around his ears. She dusted a tiny kiss over the top of his head, barely even disturbing his hair. “Sleep well,” she mouthed. She already felt bereft of his solid warmth and the feel of his embrace, but he needed to rest, and she needed to get back to the rest of her day. Nat grabbed her keys, bag and jacket and crept out of the room, letting the door quietly click shut.

*

Clint managed to make his way back to his own room, with all of his meds crammed back into the bag from the health center. Daken was already gone, and he had that scuzzy post-nap feeling where time felt unreal and his feet seemed to forget their usual acquaintance with the floor. Clint gathered up his shower caddy and towel, headed for the men’s bathroom suite, and took a too-long, too hot shower to chase away the aches and pains and wash off the rest of the Vicks. He felt a little more human by the time he made it back to his room and changed back into his pajama bottoms and a fresher (slightly) t-shirt. He still wasn’t ready to face the rest of the world. Clint climbed back into his own bed and dimly realized that Nat’s sheets smelled better than his. His stomach growled up at him, but he debated the trek across the campus to the dining hall.

Daken breezed in and plunked a bottle of Gatorade down beside him on top of Clint’s mini dresser. “Here. I come bearing a gift. You look a little less like shit.”

“Thanks?”

“I ran into your friend Eddie. He gave me this to give to you.” Daken held up some laser copied sheets and set them on Clint’s desk. “He gave you a copy of your notes from your critical thinking class.”

“Aw, sweet.”

“Where were you all day?”

“Nat’s room. Quieter down there. Slept like the dead. Still feel like crap, but at least I slept.” Clint coughed miserably and reached for the sports drink. It relieved his parched throat and made him cough a little more, but he slowly began to feel more human. “Don’t suppose you brought back anything to eat?”

“NnnnnnOPE.”

“Eh.” Clint recapped the drink and rolled back over with the intent to sleep, until he heard his phone ring. Daken tossed it at him, and it landed next to Clint on the pillow. Clint managed to catch the call on the fourth ring. Nat’s smirking photo flashed across the screen as he croaked a “H’lo?”

“You could have stayed put,” she nagged. “I’m coming over and bringing you some dinner. I got some chow mein.”

“The one with all the meats?”

“Of course. I know you.”

“I love you,” Clint blurted out. “You’re my favorite person forever.”

“Well, I knew that.” She sounded smug and pleased. “Hey. It’s time for your next dose of meds. Go ahead and take the Advil, and wait to take the antibiotic after I get there with the food. If you take it on an empty stomach, you’ll feel worse.”

“Are you gonna keep bossing me around all day?”

“Are you gonna listen to me for a change?”

“No.”

“Then, yes. Suck it up, buddy boy.”

Clint whined, but Daken smirked at him from across the room as he cracked open another bottle of Gatorade. He quirked his brow at Clint’s half of the conversation and shrugged.

“When are you coming over?”

“In a few minutes. Take the Advil. See you soon, baby.”

She rang off before he could process that she’d called him “baby” again. Clint huffed and laid the phone down beside him and fluffed his pillow.

“That’s cute. You two are cute,” Daken pronounced knowingly.

“Pfffft… what are you talking about?”

“You like her. You’re totally gone on her, Barton.”

“Am not. It’s Nat. Okay? It’s _Natasha_. We grew up together. It’d be like dating my sister.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You two seem pretty cozy.”

“We do _not_.”

“You totally _do_.” Daken nodded, pointing accusingly at Clint. “You do that thing. You give her that look.”

“What look?”

“The puppy dog eyes. Your eyes just follow her around the room, and they follow her out of it.”

“So? That’s just called ‘paying attention to be polite.’ You should try it sometime.”

“Nah. You do the thing with your face. I don’t blame you. Tasha’s hot. She is. And it’s not like she doesn’t look at you like that sometimes, too. She fusses over you.”

“Because she’s just fussy.”

“She doesn’t fuss over me or anyone else like she fusses over you. Just little stuff. Like, fixing your coffee the way you like it. Or helping you fold your laundry, or the way she’s always doing things with your hair and straightening you out whenever she’s within arm’s reach. Like, if you need a band-aid, she always has one.”

“She’s just well prepared.” Clint felt a weird flutter in his gut. “Nat’s just organized, and you don’t need to stand here talking shit.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it. It’s okay to like her. It’s just hard for me to watch you two being so clueless about it. She’s sweet on you. And you two should go ahead and bang.”

Clint grabbed his pillow and rolled up out of bed, brandishing it, and Daken whooped, dark eyes gleaming with mischief as Clint bore down on him with it. Daken’s laughter came out in choked, sharp little bursts as Clint lammed him with the pillow.

“Somebody needs to get laid,” Daken rasped, giggling as he fought him off.

“Somebody needs to die…”

Daken skirted around him back to his own bed and grabbed his own pillow, and the battle was on. Clint realized after another couple of minutes that his attempt to get out of bed was premature, and after a sustained counterattack, he was out of breath.

“Hold up… hold up…”

“Pfffft…” Daken ignored him and pelted him in the face, and Clint tipped over dramatically onto his back.

“Ow. Ass. You’re _such_ an asshole. Why do I keep putting up with you for a roommate?”

“Nobody else wants you, buddy. I got news for you.” Daken ran his hair through his Mohawk, scraping the messy black locks back from his eyes where Clint had flattened them with the pillow. “Shit. Just talk to her. Bet she’d be fine with it if she knew. She probably _already knows_ how you feel, dude.”

“Just stop talking. Seriously, Aki. You don’t know shit about what you’re talking about right now. It’s kinda embarrassing.”

Daken threw up his hands. “Whatever.”

The worst part wasn’t that his roommate could be right. Or even that Clint wanted him to be right so damned _badly_. It was just…

Clint had learned a long time ago not to want something too badly, or he’d never get it. Like, when he saved up all of his allowance money for two months to get a new bike, and his Pop told him that Barney could go with him to the store to buy it, since Pop had “a late night” and wanted to sleep it off. So Barney took Clint to the store to pick out the bike, and then promptly rode off with it a couple of hours later, left it unlocked outside of the junior high school, and let it get stolen. It was bad to want things. Just… yeah. 

And it was so hard to know Natasha Romanoff for so long, relying on her for everything, and always feeling on every level that he could never be good enough for her. Clint didn’t know what he brought to the table, or if he was even worthy enough to pull up a chair.

“Just leave it alone, dude.”

“Just don’t lie to me and tell me it’s nothing, when I can see that it’s _something._ And it’s fine that it is. She’s nice.” Daken’s tone was thoughtful, “She’s good for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah blah.”

Natasha showed up smelling like fresh air and takeout, grinning down at him as Daken let her inside. “You look a little less like roadkill.” Clint felt his insides warm up and twist themselves in a little knot.

“I feel a little less like roadkill.” 

Nat made a face. “Still sound phlegmy, though. Here. Soup first. Then pills. Then noodles.”

She made him eat some of the hot and sour soup first, which lit up his sinuses and made his nose run, but his stomach behaved when he took the pill after a few sips, just like she promised. Nat took the chair from behind his desk and sat beside him after retucking his blankets. Daken smirked. Clint mouthed “Fuck off” at him before he slurped up a forkful of noodles. Nat filled his vision, all soft curves, shining hair, and big, concerned green eyes. His body remembered the feel of her pressed against him, and he itched to pull her close again, even if it was no longer necessary.

It was just Nat. 

Nat.

“You made me go to Costco by myself, loser,” she nagged.

“Did they have the big bears this time?”

He meant the giant teddy bears in the toy section. Nat nodded enthusiastically.

“Awwww,” Clint grumbled. What a thing to miss out on. Half the fun of going through that section of the store was flopping full-force on top of the bears, like they were a futon and earning himself dirty looks from the stock clerks.

“Next time, bubela,” she convinced him. “Hey. I’m gonna get going. Eat. Get better so I can properly harass you tomorrow.” She reached down flattened his cowlick affectionately and gave him a light shove. Her expression was searching. Thoughtful. Or was he just imagining that?

“I was wondering when you were gonna leave me be, Natasha. I don’t have time to just entertain you all day long, like the princess you are.”

Daken rolled his eyes and snorted into his Gatorade bottle.

“Bye, guys.”

“Bye, your Highness,” Daken called after her as she let herself out. Once the door clicked shut, he accused Clint, “You’re a weenie.”

“Am not. You can just fuck off right now, right where you stand.”

*

Clint went to his friend Scott Summers’ apartment for another house party three weeks later and got way too tipsy on Jell-O shots. Nat saved him from a potentially disastrous hookup with Scott’s ex-girlfriend, Aleytis, who was nice but a little too handsy for someone that Clint just met. 

Natasha just wandered over and let her hand slip over his shoulder, doing that little massage thing that denoted ownership and that made Clint purr beneath her touch. “Hey.”

“Hey, bubeleh,” she teased. “You’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

“I do?”

“Uh-huh.”

Aleytis withdrew her hand from Clint’s knee and edged away from him. Natasha gave her a smile bordering on reptilian, then combed her fingers through the back of Clint’s hair.

“We should get you home to bed.”

“See you around, I guess,” Aleytis assured him, although neither of them believed her.

Clint expelled a breath. “Thank you. THANK you. She was coming on a little too strong.”

“You could simply say ‘This isn’t working for me.’”

“No. I can’t. I suck at that. That’s how Bobbi happened,” he reminded her.

“God, you’re right. Ouch…”

Nat hadn’t stopped rubbing his shoulders, and they unknotted and slumped beneath her strong, deft fingers. The room felt muzzy and pleasantly blurry, and Clint waited another minute before he tugged her hand, then reached up and grabbed her, pulling her all the way over from the back of the couch to the front, where she sprawled across his lap. Natasha whooped and swatted at him, but he just grinned down at her drunkenly, eyes bleary and amused.

“Hi.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup.”

“And ridiculous.”

“You won’t hear me arguing that.” He reached down and tweaked her nose, and she swatted him again.

“You should eat something.”

“There’s always room for Jell-O.”

“No, there’s not,” she warned him.

“Aw, no! Nat,” he whined, pouting, but she gave him her Stern Mom Face.

“Clinton. Francis. No. More. Shots.”

“Dude. She _middle named_ you,” Daken warned. “Better watch out.”

“You didn’t hear that. I have no such name,” Clint warned back. “Erase it from your memory.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Francis,” Nat argued.

“Nat! Don’t!”

“Try having ‘Alianovna’ for a middle name and hearing everyone fuck it up.”

“Alianovna,” he pronounced confidently. “What’s so hard about that? What are they even fucking up about it?”

“It’s kinda a mouthful,” Daken told them. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him; Clint simply flipped him the bird.

“That’s because you’re a dumbass.”

Aleytis made the rounds at the party, murmuring that “that Barton guy, Aki’s roommate, see that tall one?” was clearly taken, and that his girlfriend was “the scary redhead” giving everyone dirty looks. Clint and Nat didn’t fail to notice the way people began to look at them after a while.

“I’m ready to bail,” he admitted.

“I’ll take you back,” she told him.

“You’re drunk,” he argued.

“Am not. _You’re_ drunk,” she countered. “I drove here and had maybe half of that skunky blue Seagrams wine cooler and dumped the rest of it out.”

She was still regretting it; it left her mouth tasting like paste. Clint dragged his feet through his goodbyes, while Nat helped him into his jacket, crammed his beanie on his head, and wound his scarf loosely around his neck for him, checking his pockets to make sure he had his keys, phone and wallet.

“It’s been real. Okay. Guess we’re going…” Clint muttered. “Right, bye, everybody!” Natasha guided him, arm looped through his, and Clint’s head started to clear once the noise and stuffiness of the apartment was behind them. Suddenly, it was just him and Natasha as she walked along in long, quick steps, keeping a firm grip on him.

“You could’ve stayed.”

“It wouldn’t have been any fun without you,” she admitted. “And I wasn’t just gonna let you find your way home by yourself.”

“I could have gone home with Aki.”

“No. Because Aki is going to stay there all night until all the beer is gone and end up passed out on the couch again like last time. And if I let you stay and drink anymore Jell-O shots, you’re going to regret it tomorrow, and I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Sure you do,” Clint said brightly.

“No. I don’t. I really don’t.”

“You _love_ it when I’m hungover, Natty.” Clint looped an arm around her neck and gave her a little shake.

“I don’t love it when you’re drunk. You make beached whale noises when you’re hungover. It’s not as entertaining as you think it is, Barton.”

“Awwww, no! I’m totally entertaining when I’m drunk off my ass. Look!” He let go of her and ran ahead of her and hopped up onto a metal bike rack, doing a little balancing act on the rails. “Look, I’m an acrobat! I’m walking a tightrope! Oh, shit!” He tripped and just missed faceplanting when he hit the ground. Nat calmly caught up to him and picked him up off the ground, shaking her head as he giggled up at her.

“Will you just _not_.”

*

They stopped at a Denny’s for late night French fries and chicken strips and took a selfie together, sharing the same side of the booth. Clint sat slumped against her and let her feed him until he began to sound more coherent. 

“Thanks for saving me from her. I mean, she was hot, but… she’s just not… I don’t know.”

“It’s your call, and you’re judgment. You just looked like you weren’t feeling it.”

“I actually looked like I wasn’t feeling it?”

“Yeah. Just. You weren’t. I don’t know how I could tell, you just seemed uncomfortable.”

Nat dipped a piece of chicken strip that she tore apart with her fingers into some ranch dressing and tucked it into his open mouth.

“Do we have any Motrin at home?”

“If you mean, do _I_ have any, then yes, we do.”

“You’re a lifesaver. You’re my favorite forever,” he told her, which was nothing new.

“I know.”

Clint wrapped his arm around her again and gave her another little shake, this time leaning down and kissing her cheek. Nat felt a happy little flush at the contact, even though she smirked in response.

“God, you’re tipsy.”

“I’m hardly even buzzed.”

“You couldn’t walk a straight line right now and touch your nose,” she challenged.

“No, but I can do this with my nose,” he said, reaching for the spoon and breathing hotly on it before he hung it from the end of his nose. Nat snickered and tried to edge away from him.

“I don’t know you. I don’t want anyone to think I’m with you.”

“What? I’m not embarrassing to be around at all…”

They remained in the booth until the last crumbs on the plate were consumed, still tucked closely together. Aleytis’ hand on his knee bothered him; Nat’s forearm leaning against his thigh didn’t at all.

It was just… context. Nat was _Nat_.

*

Nat saw him back to his dorm room, supervised his trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth, wrestled him into his pajamas, made him take two Motrin, and left a water bottle parked beside him on his bedside vanity.

“Remember that time that I slept over at your house?” Clint mused.

“Which one?”

“The bad one, I guess?”

“Oh. That one?”

“Yeah. You made up the couch for me. And you snuck downstairs to keep me company so I wouldn’t get freaked out.”

Natasha remembered. They were ten. The Bad One.

Barney ended up in juvie that summer for stealing a car. Clint’s mom and dad had it out and got into the worst fight of their marriage. Clint escaped through the back door of the house and ran all the way to Natasha’s house. He arrived at their front door, disheveled, out of breath, sweaty and struggling not to cry. Natasha’s mother wordlessly opened her arms and drew him in.

“Is everything okay, sweetie?”

“Uh-uh.”

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t… don’t wanna go home.”

“You don’t have to. It’s all right. It’s all right, Clint.”

She smelled like Nat and was gentle. She waited for Clint’s mom to call and talked with her in murmured tones, suggesting that Clint stay over this time and “defuse.” 

She let them watch _The Karate Kid_ remake with a large bowl of popcorn and baked peanut butter cookies, giving Nat and Clint each a beater to lick. They lay on their bellies in the dark, faces illuminated by the bluish light from the screen. Clint’s long legs were sprawled and stretched halfway under the coffee table. When he dozed off, Natasha tucked a throw pillow under his head.

She crept downstairs and kept him company when she heard him stumbling around, disoriented because he woke up in someone else’s house. Nat guided him back to the couch.

“Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Natasha turned the TV back on and turned the volume as low as it would go, putting a finger to her lips. Clint laid back down, and she tucked the blanket around him, just as her mother had earlier. Natasha took one of the extra blankets and a throw pillow and made herself at home on the floor. Clint was still fidgety and agitated, until Nat sat up and told him to roll over.

She rubbed his back. “Mom does this when I can’t sleep.”

And it worked. Clint began yawning, and his eyes gradually drifted shut, lulled by straining to hear the dialogue from the set and the slow, gentle strokes of her hand. Clint wouldn’t lose his hearing until the following summer. He still wouldn’t talk about it, but that was okay. Because pretty much everything between them was okay.

“Lock the door. Don’t let anyone in,” she told him.

“Except Aki. I kinda hafta let him in. He lives here.”

“Pfffft… lock him out. Tell him to stay at Scott’s. He’s going to be insufferable when he gets back.”

“Don’t I get a bedtime story?”

“No. You get to pass out.”

“Aw. Well, don’t I at least get a goodnight kiss?”

Nat sighed, and she brushed back his hair and kissed his forehead. “You’re a hot mess.”

“I know. You love me, anyway.”

“Good night, Clint.” Her tone was firm as she headed for the door.

“You love me anyway,” he repeated just as firmly.

He took the sight of her smirk with him as she closed the door, locking it after herself.

*

Natasha didn’t mind the rain if she didn’t have to go out in it. She’d rather listen to it from inside, wrapped up in her fleece PJ bottoms with a cup of cocoa or soup and a decent book, or her Netflix queue. Getting caught out in it at night _sucked._

The cloudburst took her by surprise when she walked out of Target with her last-minute purchases. Going to Target late at night was nice, because there was no line and the store was practically empty. Costco was already closed, and Nat needed too many things ~~feminine hygiene products~~ that wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. By the time she walked through the electric double doors, the parking lot was flooded, and rain was pelting down almost horizontally.

“GAH! FUCK!” she shrieked as she stood rooted to the spot beneath the sidewalk overhang. Okay. She steeled herself, pulling up the hood of her pullover, knowing it wouldn’t protect her at all. It was a chilly night as it was, and the rain was just the icing on the cake. Nat practically sprinted to her car, splashing through the puddles and hissing as the cold drops hit her.

She clicked open her trunk and loaded her purchases, returned her cart to the rack (which was way too far away), and sat in disgruntled, wet disgust as she started her car.

“Ugh,” she muttered. Yuck. Her windshield wiper blades could barely keep up with the sheets of water sluicing down as she entered the freeway to return to campus. She made it back to the student parking lot and found it full, fuming that she would have to park her car at the structure four blocks further away from the dorms and then hoof it. Her leggings felt paper-thin as the rain soaked her to the skin within minutes; she gripped the plastic bag handles tightly, trying not to let the rain seep into them and get her purchases all wet. Her breath escaped her mouth in misty little puffs, and the streets looked shiny and slick under the streetlights. Nat saw her dorm building up ahead and sprinted for it full pelt. She misjudged the depth of an enormous puddle as she stepped off a curb, and it splashed her all the way up to her kneecaps. “FUCK!”

There was nothing worse than the feel of wet socks inside your wet shoes. Nothing in the world.

Her pullover wasn’t thick enough to be practical; the thin, French laundry velour clung to her, and the wind plastered it tightly against her body before she made it to the front lobby. Rahne and Dani looked up from their sign-in desk and gaped at her.

“Wow, look at you,” Dani remarked, tsking.

“What made ye head out in tae that nasty muck, lass?”

“I wasn’t expecting to get caught out in it,” Nat admitted.

“Hurry up and get dry.”

Nat’s feet squelched and squeaked as she climbed the stairs to her floor. When she reached the door, she paused, staring at her key ring. “Shit.” Her dorm key was missing. “The hell…?”

She knocked on the door, frantically digging through her purse to see if it had just slipped off the ring. A cursory search wasn’t helping, and she dumped the whole thing out to look for it. No key. “Shit,” she hissed. “Where could I have put it… oh, fuck.”

America borrowed it from her earlier that day after losing hers. She hadn’t given it back yet. Natasha knocked on the door again. “America,” she called out gently. “Let me in, if you’re in there.” She knocked again. “Pretty please? I’m soaked.”

No response.

Nat turned around and leaned against the wall. “Shit.” She saw Raven coming out of her room a couple of doors down. “Hey. Have you seen America?”

“I think she headed to Amara’s. Kate said they might go. Maybe call her?”

Nat called her, glad that she hadn’t forgotten her phone.

“You’re soaked,” Raven told her.

“I’m freezing,” she clarified as she listened to the phone ringing as she dripped onto the carpet. Her skin was chilled and blue. “She’s not picking up.”

“That sucks.”

Raven went back to her room without extending any other helpful suggestions. Nat waited a minute and called again.

Suddenly, a text flashed across her screen.

 _America’s asleep. We’re out of town._ That sounded like Kate.

_How far out of town?_

After a beat, she typed back _Jersey_.

“Seriously?” Nat threw up her hands.

She just wanted to get warm. Quickly. She contemplated going all the way back down two floors to the lobby, then decided against it. She headed instead to the men’s wing. Scott’s younger brother, Alex, a geology major who got in during late registration, whistled as she walked by.

“Is there a wet t-shirt contest that I should know about?”

“No. And don’t look at me.” _Me or my bags of Always and other embarrassing shit._ She reached Clint’s door and knocked on it soundly. She heard Clint turn down his music, which was already a little loud for that time of night. He jerked open the door and gaped at her.

“Geez.”

“I lost my keys. I think America is passed out.”

Nat stood there in the doorway, soaked to her skin, her hair clinging to her cheeks in dark chestnut tendrils. Clint’s breath caught. “Can I come in for a while?”

“Passed out?”

“Kate messaged me and said she’s asleep, anyway, and they’re out of town. It’s not like they can just rush back all the way from Jersey.”

“How did you lose your keys?” He eyed the Target bags in confusion.

“Just the dorm key. Because that’s just the kind of day I’m having. I forgot I lent it to America, and here I am. I don’t feel like going all the way back downstairs. Where’s Daken?”

“Out. He went home for the weekend to watch Laura’s school play.”

“Cute.”

“He’s been texting me from the back row of the auditorium. He’s bored to tears.”

“He’s being a supportive older brother. Is it okay if I stay here for a while? I just need to get dry.”

“Knock yourself out. God, you’re soaked. Your hair’s doing that little curly thing…”

“I know. I hate it, I just flat ironed it this morning.”

“Why? It looks good curly.”

Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her skin was damp and glistening, making her green eyes look huge and bright. Clint felt self-conscious for a minute, dressed only for sleep, barely wearing much. This wasn’t their usual social call.

She warmed beneath his praise, though. “Go ahead and take that off,” he told her. Nat complied, shucking the pullover and draping it over the chair, but her tee was damp, too. She sat on the edge of his desk and toed off her wet sneakers. Her feet tingled with relief as she peeled off the wet socks.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “Hey, can you turn up the heat a little? I’m freezing.” She moved at a mince, shivering and rubbing her arms.

“That’s because you’re still wet, but yeah, I can turn it up, Natty.” Clint went to the radiator and turned up the knob, even though he ran warm himself and was comfortable in just his t-shirt and boxers at the moment. Nat hugged herself, and Clint closed the distance between them, rubbing her arms and shoulder with his large, warm hands.

“Let me get you a towel if I have one that doesn’t smell like ass.”

“Wow, what service,” she joked, but he pulled one off the rail on the closet and began to rub her hair dry, gently squeezing it within its soft blue folds.

“Don’t get sick. Aren’t you always telling me not to get sick and to bundle up?”

“I didn’t think it would take me that long to finish at the store, and then it was pissing down rain,” she complained. “This wasn’t part of my magnificent plan for the evening.”

“What was?”

“Reese’s peanut butter cups and YouTube.”

His face lit up. “Gimme.”

“They’re in the bag. I’ll grab them in a minute, but you have to share them with me.”

“That’s fine. Your hair is still wet, anyway.” He continued to dry it, running his hands through it, and she hummed in contentment.

“What did I do to deserve all this pampering?”

“Exist,” he joked. “S’no big deal. Wasn’t like I had anything to do tonight, anyway.” He paused for a minute and went to the drawer, pulling out a black Superman tee that looked enormous. “Put this on. I might have some bottoms, too.”

“I’m okay, I just need to warm up.”

“Bullshit. You’re still cold, and those things are wet,” he said, nodding down to her leggings, whose pale pink cotton were now transparent. “Go ahead and take ‘em off. I won’t look. I mean, I’ve seen you in less, anyway.” Which… wasn’t wrong. How many summers had they spent by Tony’s pool with their friends?

Nat took the shirt and the nubby, fraying plain flannel pants from him and turned her back on him, and Clint busied himself on the other side of the room, changing his Spotify playlist. The pants drooped around her hips, even after she tightened the drawstring as far as it would tie. But the clothes were dry, swamping her in their softness, and they smelled like Clint. She hung her damp ones over the side of the desk and sat on the edge of Daken’s bed.

“Don’t sit there. He’s weird about people sitting on his bed when he’s not here.”

“He’s just as weird when he’s here,” she pointed out.

“I know, but that’s a thing with him. Just sit on mine. Get warm.”

“What were you doing when I showed up?”

“Chatting on Facebook Messenger. Just talking shit with Scott.” He glanced at his screen. “He’s offline, now, anyway.” Natasha sank down onto his mattress and tugged the edge of his blanket over her lap, but Clint shook his head. “C’mon. Get tucked in. Hey, want me to take this stuff downstairs and put it in the dryer?”

“If you’re going to that much trouble, I should probably just go to the front desk and get a spare key.”

“You don’t have to, though,” he pointed out.

“I should, if I want to sleep in my own room tonight,” she explained, as though he was five.

“Well. That’s what I’m saying. Maybe you don’t _have to_ sleep in your own room.”

Nat’s brows quirked, and she rubbed her nape, staring down at her lap. She plucked at the folds of his borrowed pants absently. The radiator hummed more loudly as the room began to warm up, and her skin no longer felt so chilled. Her hair just sprang into more frizzy curls as it dried, and under his gaze, she felt like a mess.

Except, this was Clint.

Clint.

Clint couldn’t stop staring at her. Smaller and more vulnerable looking in his too-big clothes. Soft, damp hair hanging down around her face, piquantly beautiful, those green eyes full of questions she already knew the answers to, but was afraid to ask him. Because Natasha knew him, inside and out.

“Daken won’t be okay with me sleeping in his bed, if I can’t even sit on it.”

“We talked about that, and I know that. That’s not what I’m offering. Here. Let me tuck you in.”

Natasha mulled his offer. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had a casual sleepover, except… this one didn’t have any adult supervision. _They_ were the adults, and it just felt… strange, but not wrong. Her stomach did a funny little dip, but she warmed to the idea as Clint turned down the covers and patted the pillow.

“Climb in. Look, I’m gonna put your stuff in the dryer. I’ll be back, okay? You can use my laptop.” He handed it to her once she was sitting up against the wall with his pillow wedged against her lower back, and he covered her with the blanket. Clint reached out and tweaked one of her curls for a moment. “Cute,” he murmured. “Stay warm. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Clint hopped into a pair of discarded sweats and headed out with her damp clothes bundled in his arms. Natasha’s stomach continued its acrobatics and her heartbeat sped up.

“How the heck did I end up here?” she said aloud. “Wow. Okay.” Okay.

She scrolled through his Spotify and found “Run Me Like a River” and let it play at low, comforting volume, humming along to it, surprised to find it on his playlist. She started a game of free cell and was six card flips into it before Clint returned emptyhanded.

“Remind me to go back down and get them.”

“I’m not planning to Walk of Shame back in the morning in your clothes,” she joked.

“Why not?” he asked, shrugging. “You look good in ‘em. Where’s the shame in that?”

Nat ducked her face, but he caught her shy little smile.

“You do,” he said softly.

“I didn’t know you liked this song,” she said, changing the subject, because her cheeks suddenly felt hot and she didn’t know what to do with her hands, or with anything. Clint sat on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dipped beneath his weight, his arm bumping against hers. He felt warm and solid, and Nat didn’t object when he took off the sweats and tucked his long legs under the covers, stretching them out alongside hers.

“I know you like it. You play it in your car often enough. Guess it just reminds me of you.” He looked down at the screen. “You gonna finish your game?”

“I don’t have to.”

“It’s okay. You can.”

“I know, i guess. I don’t… I don’t really want to?”

“Want the music on, still?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Clint clicked out of the free cell game and moved the laptop onto the dresser. He leaned over and turned off the lamp, and Nat yawned in response. The light from the streetlamps outside shone through the window slats and the rain continued to pour down, slapping at the panes and underscoring the music. Clint eased down in bed onto the pillows, and Nat joined him, stretching out against him like a cat. Clint’s arm draped around her, and he reached over with his free hand to turn down the radiator before he tugged the covers up to Nat’s ears, and _oh_.

Those were his fingers stroking her still-damp hair. “Warm enough?” he husked.

“Uh-huh.”

He smelled like his shower gel and fabric softener, and his skin was so warm; the hem of his shirt flipped up a little over his flat belly, and her palm skimmed over it inadvertently, finding his firm, taut abs. He squirmed, huffing a laugh. “Tickles.”

“Sorry.”

“No. It’s okay.” Her hand slid around and gently patted his side, then caressed it. His arm tightened around her, and he kept stroking her hair. His fingertips grazed her cheek, and she could have sworn she felt his lips brush over her hairline, his warm breath misting over her skin. His hand found her arm under the covers, and he stroked it, drinking in her softness. He played with her slender fingers, and he laced theirs together for a moment. “Comfy?”

“I really am. You’re like the world’s most comfortable pillow.”

“I want that to be my official title from now on.”

“I’ll make you a shirt with that on it.”

“No. Just to you.” She glanced up at him, lifting up her head from his chest, and his blue eyes caught hers in the darkness. “Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“C’mere. Please?”

Little thrills ran through her gut, and she nodded, leaned down and kissed him. Just a slow, sweet, hesitant brush of her lips, and she felt the change in him immediately, heard his low, astonished hum of pleasure tinged with relief before he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her down for another kiss. This one was deeper and filled with hunger, and his arm tightened around her, shifting her against him to line her up for better access, accommodating the height difference. 

She supported herself on her elbows when he pulled her on top of him, and her palms cradled his face while she kissed him in all the ways she’d always imagined. Deep, wet and sultry. Tiny, nibbling tugs at his lips. Clint’s hands crept beneath the hem of her shirt and skimmed over her bare back; her skin felt satiny smooth and perfect, and he groaned at the way her slender body fit so easily against his. Natasha tilted his jaw a little and let her tongue sweep inside, tasting him thoroughly, and Clint felt himself grow hard as a rock.

He wanted to drown in her.

She drank kisses from him as his hands molded her body, finding her curves through the soft fabric of her (his) pajamas. His hands slipped down, sliding over her rump, and he squeezed it, exploring its plump fullness. Natasha moaned as he gripped her hips and ground up against her, so she could feel the hard knob of his erection through his thin boxers. “Clint,” she gasped. 

Clint broke their kiss, creating a cognitive dissonance that this was her best friend, and that she was _on top of him_ and desperate to… what? Look where this was going. He stared up at her, breathing hard, and he blinked hard, unable to look at her for a second while he mastered himself.

“It’s okay if this isn’t okay,” he blurted out.

“What?”

“It is, Okay? I mean, if you don’t want to-”

Nat shook her head and dipped down for another kiss, sucking his lower lip between her teeth and making him hum in pleasure. Nat ground herself against him, enjoying the friction at the juncture between their legs. His hair grew even more disheveled as she clutched at it.

“Is this okay?” she asked him, just to be sure.

He nodded, and she watched his nostrils flare, eyes dilating, and suddenly his hands were _everywhere_.

Soft. She was just so soft and responsive to his touch, and she fit into his arms like she’d always been there. Clint’s lips traced a slow, sweet line down her cheek, along the side of her tender throat and lingered there, tasting her pulse. He strained beneath her, bucking up against her in slow, experimental thrusts.

Slowly, their clothes began to drift to the floor, and Clint managed to fumble in his underwear drawer for the box of condoms, leaving it open on the dresser.

“I’ll put it on in just a minute,” he promised. “Let me just touch you for a minute.” He unwrapped her like a present, and she shivered when his fingertips grazed her nipple. “Beautiful. Look at you, Natasha.”

“It feels funny when you do.” She was already flushing beneath his gaze. He swept the fall of hair back from her face and kissed her, slow and deliberate. 

The photo shoot had been a strange kind of torture. Awkward. Too close. Too intimate at once. Being subjected to the camera and each other’s unsettling gaze was too much, knowing that life would never imitate art for them, because it couldn’t. Not when they were best friends. 

“Why?” he asked. “Why’s it feel funny?” He kissed the crest of her cheekbone and stroked a lock of hair back from her face. “I love looking at you. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t stop.” She saw his eyes in the dark, gleaming and intense, and it was almost too much, they way that he looked at her.

And sometimes, she noticed. Just once in a while, if they were together, and she was doing something mundane. Nat only had to look up for a second from her textbook or from baking them brownies or even from just tying her shoe, and Clint was there, sneaking looks at her and giving her that funny little smile, The We Just Made Random Eye Contact and This is Weird But Let’s Go With it one. It was starting to be her favorite.

“You’re beautiful, Natasha.”

She tried to look away, suddenly bashful, but his lips trailed over her face, and his touch was gentle. Reverent.

“I’m not…”

“You are. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Her insides felt warm and liquid, like she was melting. Clint did that.

She kissed him back, tentative and a little shy now, cradling his jaw in her palm. He bowed his lips into its center, and this time, when she lowered her face to kiss him again, she breathed him in, growing drunk with the sensations. 

Clint rolled them over, and they became a languid tangle of limbs. “You feel so good.” Natasha shivered and gasped as he traced the column of her throat with his tongue, lapping at it in hot, slick spirals. “Just touching her for a minute” dragged itself out thoroughly, and so deliciously. Clint descended her body, exploring the straining, soft swells of her breasts, and her fingers clutched at his hair to hold him there for a while. When he sucked each pebbled, rosy bud, little thrills rushed into her stomach, and the rest of her body ached to be stroked and explored.

“Clint,” she breathed. “Oh, God… Clint. _Please._ ”

“Do you like that?”

She nodded urgently, eyes fluttering shut as he kept lapping at her nipple, tugging on it and humming over how good she tasted. Clint eased off of her, stretched out alongside her, still teasing her breasts, and before she could protest the lack of his slack weight against her, she felt his hand skim over her ribcage, down over her quivering abdomen, and he stroked her vulnerable, waiting sex.

“I want you, and I’m gonna put that condom on soon, but I need to do this. I just need to touch you. You feel so sweet.” Natasha arched and gasped as he found a sensitive spot and caressed it. Nat needed to reciprocate, and her eyes roamed hungrily over him. She knew why girls tucked phone numbers and Instagram IDs into his pockets at parties and shared their laundry detergent with him and cheerfully risked Clint Barton as a bad decision they were willing to make. Yet, this was still Clint. Riding too fast downhill on his bike and tumbling over the handlebars. Falling asleep during study hall, history class, critical thinking class or out in the quad. Terrible Scrabble player. Best S’mores maker on every camping trip their parents dragged them on.

Natasha felt an unwelcome feeling intrude her chest. What if Natasha stopped being the girl who rescued him from other girls where “things just didn’t work out?” What if she became one of the girls who just “didn’t work out?”

She shook it off when he murmured, “Hey.” Why are you making that face?”

“I’m not making a face.”

“Your face is making a face. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Could you do that again?”

“This?” He flexed his fingers, and pleasure curled inside her, making coherent thought melt away. _For now_. “That’s better. That’s the face I wanted to see.” 

Her hand drifted down and touched him, gently ringing him in her grip. He was already stiff and twitching as she experimentally stroked him. His body shuddered. He let her do what she wanted for a minute until he warned her, “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

“Condom?”

“If you put it on me.”

She gave him a lazy, pleased smile as she reached into the box for one and opened the packet with her teeth. “Come up here for a minute,” she told him.

“What… oh. Okay, that’s… that’s fine…” His voice died off as he straddled her waist as she indicated, and Nat eased herself farther down, still smirking up at him as she placed herself where she wanted to be and drew Clint down into her hot, slick mouth. Clint’s brain short-circuited, and he groaned, shuddering and closing his eyes. His fingers found their way back into her hair, first to sweep it out of her face, but then to clutch at it, tangling in its soft waves. “God, Nat…”

She hummed around his straining flesh, like he had done with her, and she tasted a tantalizing drop of saltiness from the plump, silky head. Nat slowly bobbed her head, pulling back over and over, sucking curses and gasps from him and making him buck. He was all taut, rippling muscles, and she breathed in his musky scent and heat, hands skimming over his long thighs.

He lasted maybe a couple of minutes before he warned her, “We can’t do this unless you want me to make a big mess.”

She made a disappointed noise around his cock, but he reluctantly withdrew himself from her mouth, teasing her lips with the edge of his thumb. “Suit me up. Please?”

“Mm-hmmmm.” She backed off slightly, leaned up on her elbows and gave him one last, damp kiss that made him twitch and crave her mouth again, and Clint hissed out a sharp breath, but she plucked the condom from the wrapper and slowly sheathed him in it, rolling it down his length. She primed him briefly, teasing him, until he caught her wrists and raised them above her head, then dipped his head for more hungry kisses. His dick was caught between them, throbbing and receiving friction as it glided over her mound. Natasha whimpered at his hardness and the way it rubbed her tender spot. She arched beneath him, more than ready when he finally guided himself to her opening and slowly sank inside.

She felt the slight cramp of his girth stretching her and the momentary burn of his entry, but the look on his face… the shuddering gasp, _Jesus_. 

“God, _Nat._ ”

She arched up. Welcoming him. Bucking up into his hesitant thrust. 

“Want you.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Shy. Urgent.

He nodded. “You can have me.” His voice was a soft husk, and he kissed her again, just as he gave her another more confident thrust. 

They grew lost in each other, seeking perfect speed. Angles. Pressure. Depth. Tenderness. Heat. She owned him with every caress, from the way her nails gently scored his skin or combed through his tousled blond waves. Her legs wrapped themselves tightly around his waist. She pulsed around him, engulfing his length and welcoming him home. Speech grew impossible. Natasha’s thoughts became a jumbled, tumbling mass of impressions and feelings that superseded words. The covers slipped loose, leaving them bare and sweating. Natasha heard their mingled breathing over the sound of rain slapping the panes outside, with Clint’s music drifting over them, retiming his thrusts as the song changed. 

And then changed again.

Natasha’s low sounds became soft moans that occasionally sounded like his name. His lips rewarded her for her softness, so insistent on landing everywhere, celebrating her without a sound. Pressure built inside her with each thrust of his hips. Slick. Hot. Deep. These were the ways that Clint Barton made Natasha lose her mind.

“Please…” 

“Tell me what you want-”

“Please, Clint…”

“Tell me.”

He rolled his hips, moving them in delicious corkscrews; she arched again, head pushing back into the pillows, and her hands squeezed his upper arms. His muscles were straining, bulging and taut. Her eyes feasted on the sight of him naked, skin slicked with sweat. There was so much heat and hunger in his eyes. All for _her_. She reached up to caress him, and he nibbled at her fingers, drawing one into his mouth. She felt herself tighten around him in response, and he shuddered. 

“Do that again? Please?”

“This?”

“Oh, God…!”

He thrust harder, faster, and she coddled him, squeezing around him in a rhythmic, irresistible clutch that pushed him closer to the edge. It was too soon for him; he wanted to badly to draw it out, because it was Natasha. It was perfect, and she was sweet and tender and staring up at him with those amazing eyes, clinging to him, like he… like _he_... like she couldn’t-

“Oh, goddammit, fuck, fuckfuckit _please_ please, oh God-”

The words came out of him in a rush, and his climax rocked him, turning him into a shuddering, rippling, gasping wreck. He rocked against her, arms snaring her tightly as he ducked his face into the side of her neck. Waves of pleasure coursed through him, and she held him through it, clinging to him out of just as much need. 

He collapsed, sprawling and letting himself go completely limp. He felt Nat’s arm lift off of him for a moment before her palm stroked over his hair. Clint huffed a chuckle. His voice was a hoarse mess.

“Wow. That- wow.”

He heard her breathy laugh in the dark, and she readjusted them both as he slipped free from her heat and shifted himself to wrap his arm around her waist and trap her thigh under his, trying not to smush her with his weight. They listened to their hammering heartbeats and gradually slowing breathing, letting their hands drift over each other’s skin.

“I wanted that too much,” he admitted.

Nat snickered. “Shut up.”

“I did. And that totally happened faster than I wanted.”

“That’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t want you thinking that this is how fast I usually… hey, quit laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“I know how it sounds when you’re laughing at me, Nat.”

“Well, true, you should definitely know how it sounds by now, but this isn’t me laughing at you. This is my having a really good time with you,” she corrected him.

Clint raised himself up onto his elbows and swept her hair back from her face. “Oh, it is, huh?”

“Mm-hm.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now, Clint.”

Her hand cupped his nape, drawing him down, and he sighed into their kiss, his fingers stroking that soft, rich auburn hair. They shifted again, and her hands massaged and caressed him into a stupor. They dozed off, with his Spotify list still playing, and Natasha just wanted this for herself, this warm, blurry drift with his slack bulk wrapped in her arms with his breath misting over her skin. 

_How am I this much of a disaster? Oh, my God. I love you. I love you so much. And you’re never gonna feel that way about me._

*

They rearranged themselves more than once throughout the night, ending up in each others’ arms in different configurations, until Nat found herself spooning him, with her arm tucked around his chest and trapped under the crook of his elbow. He shifted again, and it restored scant bloodflow to her dead limb. Natasha saw the opportunity for her escape, and it hit her, then. That she _needed_ to escape. 

Because suddenly, this was too much. The prospect of waking up to Clint and trying to _make actual words_ with him felt impossible. 

What if they couldn’t?

What if they.

What if _he_.

Panic spiked in her chest.

Nat relaxed her body and let her arm slip free, reluctant to leave his warmth. She edged her way backwards, until she slithered off the bed onto the floor, landing soundlessly on the cold, flat tract carpeting. Clint’s breathing changed slightly, and she heard his smack his lips, but he settled back down and went right back to the low, soft snores. She reached down and tweaked the covers into place, so that they covered him up to his chest. Natasha realized her clothing options were limited, and she changed back into his sweats and shirt. She plucked up her purse, bags and shoes, and she crept toward the door, taking painstaking care to press the button lock in the center of the knob before she turned it.

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ she chanted to herself as she eased out into the corridor and silently closed the door, letting the latch click into place. Natasha tiptoe-trotted down the hallway toward her own wing, fully aware of the sight she made. Wrecked hair, rumpled men’s clothes, no bra… no one she knew was in the hall when she reached her neighbor Jean’s door. She knocked gently after checking her phone and seeing that it was six-thirty, just early enough to still be that deep, hazy indigo outside. The rain had stopped, and Nat knew she didn’t have an explanation for how she looked that wouldn’t sound lame. Jean looked surprised. “Hey, Tasha.”

“Hey. Um, can I hang out here for a while until my roommates get back? I got locked out last night.”

“No. You’re not locked out,” Jean argued. “America and Kate got back really late, like, maybe two hours ago. I ran into them on my way to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“They’re back.”

“Shit… okay. That’s… that’s fine. Thanks, Jeannie.”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

“Just a new roommate.”

Jean’s chuckle followed her as she knocked on her own door, waited a few seconds, then knocked again. She felt relieved to hear her roommate’s light, stumbling footsteps behind the door before it opened. America stood yawning at her, hair pulled back into fraying plaits. 

“Hey. Sorry I forgot I had your key. Where did you end up?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Meaning she wouldn’t. “Just… let me in. I need some time in my own bed.”

America raised her brows and folded her arms. “Why does it sound like there’s a story I’m missing out on?”

“Not missing a thing. Nighty-night. Leave my key on my desk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was so long. I'm a disaster. Yeah.
> 
> And we all know I'm going to probably pack the next update chock full of angst. Sorry.


End file.
